


My Lie

by AndyAO3



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Disabled Character, General Sci-Fi Nerdery, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sad Robots, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-12-26 04:50:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 68,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12051687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndyAO3/pseuds/AndyAO3
Summary: It starts with "I can't just leave this dog alone," then "I can't just leave these people to die." Humans are compassionate, after all, and he has to act the part if he values his life.He's not a good person. Just a coward and a fraud who's good at acting. Really.





	1. 1: the soul of orphans

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO AND WELCOME TO HAPPY AU FUN TIMES WITH ANDY. You didn't think I'd just leave Harkness behind, did you?
> 
> Don't worry, it's still Ted. Just an AU where Ted gets to be the Sole Survivor. He's just not very good at it, so he needs a little help. Not every character is suited for charging blindly into the main questline. He doesn't pop up for a few chapters, but he will. 
> 
> A few notes on the canon divergence: Yes, Ted has a wife. She's an Indian-American veteran of Anchorage who was honorably discharged. They have a biological son. BUT, Ted himself was firmly against the war and dodged the draft due to medical issues, with a mess of physical and psychological problems. He's a former employee of General Atomics, with years of experience in robotics and nuclear engineering at the age of 32, instead of being a lawyer or soldier himself. As for Harkness, he was given the recall code, killed Zimmer himself, and then left Rivet City to wander around the wastes trying to find some kind of purpose in life. Ten years into his wanderings and he's still looking, so he went back to the beginning to see if that might give him any answers.
> 
> That should be all y'all need to get caught up. Alright, onwards with the fic.

It started with a dog.

Not a typical wasteland dog, obviously, or Harkness wouldn't have cared. He would have shot it and moved on. But this dog wasn't hostile. Wasn't scruffy or ragged or underfed. Its coat was full and shiny, unmarred by battle scars or sores or patches of bare skin. Its eyes were bright and intelligent. Someone had obviously cared for it, even if it was impossible to say whether that was still the case. And all it was doing was following him.

"What." He frowned at it, unsure of what he should do. He'd been successful at avoiding civilization so far on the way into the Commonwealth, en route from New Hampshire. Did the dog belong to someone? "I don't have any food."

The dog's ears drooped and it made a sad whimpering sound.

"I'm serious," he said. "Go home."

It pushed its head into his hand. Sighing, he grudgingly allowed the dog to do so, turning his hand so that the dog could lick his fingers. He didn't know what might be on them to prompt such a thing; he hadn't eaten in days, didn't need to. Not like a human did. Dogs, however, did need to eat, and he wasn't sure he had the capacity to accomodate that need.

"You really should go home," he told it, even as it made big sad puppy eyes up at him. "I can't keep you safe out here. Hell, I'm not even sure I can keep myself safe."

The dog tilted its head and made a questioning, soft whining noise. Probably didn't even understand what he was saying. He didn't know whether the fact that the dog had been the first halfway-smart thing he'd met on returning to the Commonwealth - he'd met a slightly isolation-mad Handy, but he didn't tend to count those as intelligent - was a good sign or not. But then, androids probably weren't supposed to believe in things like signs, or hunches.

Why had he come back, again? He looked around at his surroundings, taking stock of where he was. Just down the road from an old gas station, with Concord in plain sight not too far away. His eyes lingered on a passing bird overhead, though not for long; he frowned when he caught sight of it.

Right. Anything to look more human. He had to assume he was being watched. And humans were fond of animals, weren't they?

"Fine," he said, and the dog's ears perked. "You can stay. But I expect you to pull your own weight, got it?"

He expected no such thing, but the dog barked happily anyway in what Harkness guessed was a promise that some attempt would be made to do just that. Or something along those lines. Maybe the dog was just picking up on the positivity in his tone. Who could say? Not him. He'd never pretended to be good with animals.

All he had to do was find someone to take the dog off his hands and he'd be on his way.

\---

On the outskirts of Concord, he heard gunfire. It echoed through the streets, along with far-off shouting that sounded vaguely threatening even without any context. Harkness didn't consider himself an expert on much of anything, but he knew a bad situation when he heard it. Stopping in his tracks, he did a mental inventory; a silenced ten mil, his clothes (including a long wool coat lined with ballistic weave), about two dozen bullets, and a bottle of clean water. Enough for someone like him to take on an unknown number of hostiles? Almost definitely. But it'd leave him out of bullets for the road ahead, or dangerously low at the very least.

Next to him, the dog growled. He reached down to scratch its ear briefly, sympathetic. "Think you can keep quiet for me?" he asked it.

It huffed at him; he took it as a tentative _yes_ and headed into town as silently as he could manage with the dog in tow.

He got to the main street without anyone noticing, taking stock from behind the cover of a blown-out storefront. Raiders, by their gear and war paint. Cheap, slapdash armor, patchy leathers, weapons that looked like they'd been plucked from a scrap heap-- the usual. And up on a balcony in an old building in the middle of town with a caved-in roof, he saw their prey: a man in a distinctive hat and tattered old coat, wielding a homemade laser musket. Standard Commonwealth militia gear, if he remembered right.

But only one of them? And so far north? That was concerning. Careful to make as little noise as possible, he checked his pistol's ammo for the third time. Fully loaded. Right.

Harkness took a slow, steadying breath, aimed carefully, and waited for the poorly aimed gunfire to start up again; in the ensuing noise, he took his shot. Right in a raider's neck, one of the ones in the back line. She crumpled with barely a gurgle of sound, her friends none the wiser. Grimly, he lined up another shot the second he had a confirmed kill, waiting once again for the gunfire to cover the noise he was making. Again, a clean kill; this was what he was made for. It wasn't hard.

Strung out on drugs and high on the thrill of the hunt as the raiders were, they didn't notice him until he'd chewed through most of their back line and started working his way forward with his shots. By then, it was too late for the rest. The last few kills weren't as clean, particularly once the dog leapt into the fray - surprisingly, the animal was actually capable of holding its own with its penchant for ankles - but they were almost as easy, especially when he got into melee range.

The raiders didn't even take a full magazine.

"Hey! Up here!" Harkness turned from his examination of a corpse wielding another laser musket, likely another member of the militia that hadn't been so lucky. On the balcony, the survivor was waving frantically to get his attention. "There's more raiders inside!"

Good thing he had more bullets.

\---

Somewhere along the way, he picked up a shotgun. It was an old, unwieldy thing, but it hit hard and worked well in the close quarters of the rickety building, and the texture of it in his hands (the pitted metal, the cracked and splintered oaken stock) helped to ground him as he tried valiantly to ignore the creak of the floorboards underneath his feet. The building was old, and he was heavy; he couldn't help worrying, even on the first floor, knowing there was probably a basement for him to fall into. His mind was racing as it tried to calculate his own weight distribution on the fly, every step measured and careful.

Of course, this meant that when he found more raiders, they were dealing with a jumpy synth who wasn't bothering to put much effort into hitting them with less force than what a synth might use, because all that processing power was going into being nervous about falling through the floor instead. Which might've led to him literally punching one of them through a wall when he got startled. This in turn made him even more nervous about potentially being discovered as he realized he'd done something so blatantly synth-like.

By the time he got to the civilians on the third floor, he had a white-knuckled grip on his newfound shotgun, which had managed to splinter the stock even worse. Even the dog didn't help, but at least the dog knew not to get in the way, so he didn't have to actively worry about it.

The one with the hat was at the head of the pack. Altogether there were five of them, with four noncombatants he could see; a grubby, stocky mechanic, an old woman, a man having a breakdown in the corner, and a wiry younger woman pacing in circles and spitting insults at nothing. Harkness wondered as he looked at each of them in turn whether any of them were Institute spies. The most obvious choices for that would be the one with the hat and the mechanic, which meant it was probably the one having a meltdown if the people in charge of the infiltration mission were smart.

Best case scenario, none of them were spies. Worst case scenario, all of them were in on it in some way.

"You okay?" the one with the hat asked him.

"I'm fine," he said immediately. Was that believable? Probably not. "It's been a long day." There. That should be enough.

He shouldn't have come back to the Commonwealth. "I'm Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen." The one with the hat shifted his grip on the laser musket to one hand to offer the other for a handshake. "Glad you're on our side."

After a moment's debate, Harkness took it. But only after he was sure he had enough of a handle on himself to not crush the man's hand accidentally. He shook firmly before letting go, keeping his grip strength measured. He wondered if he was too quick to let go; was there a standard for that? He'd never figured that out. "I was just passing through, figured you people could use the assist," he said. "Found this dog out by the gas station--"

When he turned to indicate it, the dog was gone. He blinked at where it had been. What--

Oh, it had gone to socialize with the old lady. Harkness quietly frowned at the dog as if it had betrayed him on a personal level; he heard Preston snort, and looked up in time to see the man hiding his smile behind a gloved hand.

"I wasn't saying anything," he said. Except he was. He was saying it right then. Hell, his laughter said plenty.

Harkness decided it wasn't worth arguing over. "Right." A change of subject was in order. "I don't remember Concord being inhabited last time I was out here aside from the 'lurks in the sewers." It was one of those really bad hiding spots for escaped synths that wanted to avoid people. Stupid, really. Integrating with humans was far safer.

Preston gawked at him. "There's mirelurks?" And that right there meant that they were transients. Conversely, it meant that Preston was either a really terrible spy (and therefore not a spy at all) or a master of obfuscation.

But a human would attempt to soothe, so Harkness tried his hand at it. "There were, but I'm not sure they'd still be there now. Been a while." He looked around at the rest of the civilians, their ragged clothes and sleepless eyes. At the dog, whose ears perked when it caught him looking. "The raiders will probably send reinforcements when they don't hear back from their friends. Got any ideas?"

"There's a nice set of T45 on the roof, probably got somethin' t'do with the crashed vertibird," the mechanic said. "Ain't got any juice though."

"Does the vertibird itself have anything we could use?" If push came to shove, he could use the blades. Ripping them off would be easy enough, but he could make a show of it being hard if he had an audience. Maybe even use tools for it.

But the mechanic shrugged and said, "got a big ol' minigun, but I still think the power armor's a better idea," and Harkness knew then and there what he was going to use to fend off the other raiders.

He shot a look at Preston. "Got enough ammo to provide some covering fire?"

"For a while," was the answer. "What're you planning on doing?"

"Handling things." He walked past the civilians towards the stairwell beyond, patting the dog on the head on the way by. "Keep him out of the way, alright? Just in case I can't keep the minigun on target."

The old lady just smiled, all missing teeth and dull eyes as she absently scratched at the dog's scruff. "Sure thing, kid."

Harkness sincerely hoped he hadn't just put the dog's safety in the hands of a spy.

 


	2. 2: prove myself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I have to actually finish the next chapter to be able to post it too. SEE? I'm motivating myself. One way or another, this one's gonna be good, health be damned.
> 
> I'm kidding on the health be damned part, by the way. I do know how self-care works.
> 
> No Ted yet, probably next chapter.

The sun was low in the sky by the time the reinforcements arrived. Armed with a minigun, Harkness was ready for them when they came.

He didn't like the minigun much. It was an inefficient weapon made for people who couldn't aim. Still, it did the job alright. From a perch up on the roof, Harkness easily mowed the raiders down as they came, and chewed through their flimsy cover of sandbags and broken storefronts. A handful even tried to hide behind an upturned car, the damned fools. A handful of shots to the combustion engine's aging gas tank and the resulting fire did the rest, melting through old wiring and warping the fusion battery's casing until--

Well, it was a bit like setting off a mini-nuke, actually. Even up on the roof and a good distance away from the blast, Harkness felt the heat of it on his face, the tingle of the resulting EMP weakly tickling at his circuits, the shockwave ruffling his hair. He didn't flinch; he knew the exact distance at which such a thing ceased to be dangerous.

"Are you crazy?!" he heard Preston shout from the balcony below.

He peered over the edge to raise an eyebrow at the man. "Excuse me?"

"You can't just shoot at cars!"

"I know what I'm doing."

"An explosion that big could've gotten us all killed!"

"Not at that distance." Harkness wasn't sure why this was a thing they were arguing about. "I don't know why you're complaining about something that worked."

"Because it's a _nuke_."

Just as Harkness was about to say something in response, he heard it-- a low, jarring _boom_ , rattling the rickety building beneath their feet. Preston felt it too, jerking towards the sound; Harkness noted that it had even spooked the crows.

"What was--"

"Impact tremor," Harkness said. There was another, louder tremor then, kicking up dust through the street. The crumbling mortar of a building near where the car had exploded threatened to shake apart in a cascade of disintegrated brickwork. He set down the minigun, peering down the street. "Something's coming."

At the next tremor a sewer grate went flying, popping free like the cork of a wine bottle; Harkness watched with clinical detatchment as his newest adversary emerged out onto the street, knowing in an instant that it would not let them pass. Knowing it was a foe he couldn't let the civilians take on alone, poorly armed and armored as they were. Spies or synths they may be, but their abilities were decidedly within standard human limits.

They couldn't take out a deathclaw without him. Couldn't outrun it, couldn't fight it. They'd die.

He could let them die, if he wanted. Taking it on would tip his hand, showing his inhumanity through his sheer ability in a way that couldn't be explained away by chems. He could easily outrun it, outsmart it, outmaneuver it until he'd left it far behind him, and no one would bat an eye.

But then it'd eat the dog, wouldn't it?

"Keep everyone inside," he told Preston. Then he picked up his shotgun and headed back downstairs.

\---

Two long gashes down the right side of his face were all he had to show for it afterward. One cut through his brow and cheek, obscuring his vision with blood; the deeper cut was parallel to it and had made it through to the metal of his cheekbone underneath. This also meant that a primary connection in the synthetic nerves of his face had been severed, disrupting the flow of signals from that area so that he could only partially "feel" what was happening on that side of his face.

So when he came inside to a small chorus of horrified gasps, he knew that it probably looked worse than it felt. But he didn't know just how bad (the error messages indicating how damaged he was could only tell him so much with so many broken connections in that area) until the profanity-loving younger woman of the group set her jaw and fell into a defensive posture as she stared at him long and hard and accusing.

"I knew it," she said. "I knew it was too good to be true. Look at him!"

"Now, Marcy, that ain't no way to treat the man," the mechanic tried to say, in spite of being clearly shaken himself.

But Marcy was having none of it. "A _man!_ " she spat. "That's not a man at all."

Harkness shrank away, glancing towards the exit. Shit.

"He just saved our lives," Preston noted.

"Maybe he only saved us because he wants to steal us away to the Institute, did ya consider that?"

"I'm not with the Institute," Harkness mumbled. His voice felt small, and his words were faintly slurred; a whole new set of error messages had been brought up by the act of speaking, indicating how the movement had pulled at his injuries.

Marcy stepped up into his personal space, driven by her suspicion. Her anger was plain to see. An old pain, if he had to guess. Understandable; a lot of people in the Commonwealth had those. It made her as dangerous as any spy. "And why should we trust you, huh?" she prodded. " _Synth_."

Harkness flinched away from her. He had no answer. None she would accept. No one who had found him out in the past had ever accepted what he had to say on the matter, and he didn't expect anyone to start now. Not when the answer hadn't changed.

By any logic, no one _should_ trust him.

A whimpering sound caught his attention, followed by the soft padding of paws across the floor. The dog approached him, head bowed, ears drooping as it moved between him and the wary civilians; it sat down in front of him and whimpered, looking up at him with big sad eyes. He sighed and reached out to pet it, and it responded to the attention by turning its head to lick his hand.

"Don't be so hard on the kid, Marcy," the old woman scolded, seated in the back of the room. There was nothing like judgment in her cloudy gaze that Harkness could see. "He's got a lot to be scared of without addin' you to the mix."

"Nothing I haven't heard before," Harkness said, a frown bringing another set of error messages along with his words. Then, "it's fine. I'm not offended."

"Who cares whether you're offended?" Marcy shot back, disgusted.

"Marcy, please," Preston urged. "Synth or not, he's hurt."

"Good, let him be hurt. Maybe with his face hanging open like that it'll make a good warning for other people."

"I can take care of myself," Harkness assured. "I should probably get going anyway."

The mechanic sputtered. "Like hell you're leavin' lookin' like that. Ain't no way that'll heal right without stitches."

"It's fine--"

"You took on a deathclaw for us," Preston said. "Let Sturges help. It's the least we can do."

Harkness glanced down at the dog, pressing its head into his hand and whining. The throb of blood loss and pain had receded to the point that he could count it as a background process, and anxiety flooded his processes in its wake. There was so much that could go wrong. So many ways this could end badly. But if he went outside and he were spotted before he could stitch his own face back together, he'd be caught for sure.

Idly shifting his weight, his attention was diverted yet again to the creaking floorboards beneath his feet. The anxiety reached a new peak, threatening to lock him up if it continued. He closed his eyes, tried to will it away, but it only made it worse as a lack of visual input gave the nervousness threatening to swallow him more room to play across his circuits.

He forced himself to breathe. In, out. These humans already knew what he was. Unknown variables or not, the chance of survival was greater if he stayed in their good graces than it would be if he left them behind and took to the wastes on his own with his face torn open. Hate, he knew how to deal with: if it got bad enough, he could always leave. Being discovered by a stranger he had no pull with and handed over to the Institute was a problem that had no solution.

There was only one right answer.

"Alright," he conceded.

\---

It didn't stop there.

After his face was stitched up by Sturges - who was smart enough to at least _try_ to wash his hands first, as well as sterilize the needle in a small fire - it was Preston who suggested that Harkness come with them to Sanctuary, a place just up the hill they'd apparently been trying to get to all along under Mama Murphy(the old woman)'s guidance. Harkness wondered if they actually meant Sanctuary _Hills_ , the place where he'd encountered the senile Handy, but decided not to say anything to that effect aloud.

Instead he tried to say that he didn't want to cause any trouble for them, which was apparently the wrong thing to say to humans trying to be nice, because it just made them nicer. Or at least it made Preston and Sturges nicer. Harkness could only conclude from this that if they weren't spies, the only alternative was that they were idiots. Nice idiots, but idiots all the same.

He told himself he was only accompanying them to Sanctuary to make sure they didn't somehow get the dog killed along the way. For good measure, he told the old woman as much as they walked, the two of them bringing up the rear of the procession. She laughed at him.

"I wouldn't worry too much about Dogmeat, kid," she said. "He's a smart boy."

The dog barked and started wagging its tail. Harkness wondered who the hell would name their dog something like that. "Lousy taste in friends," he mused.

She tapped him on the arm with the end of a gnarled old cane. "Don't sell yourself short. He could've done a lot worse than bringing us a friend like you."

There were so many things wrong with that statement, Harkness didn't even know where to begin. After failing to come up with a response, he decided it best to leave the subject behind. "Just make sure to take care of him after I leave," he said.

"Me?" Mama Murphy scoffed, shaking her head. "Nah, he's picked a new best friend now, I think."

Harkness looked down at the dog, which looked up at him. It seemed to take his glance as a signal to headbutt his hand. "I don't need a dog."

"Sure you don't." They were coming up on the bridge; the old woman shifted her cane to her other hand and began using it to prod at the ground in front of her rather than support her weight. Her pace slowed as a result, but Harkness wasn't bothered. "And you're not lookin' for redemption either, I suppose."

"No." Redemption? Bullshit. That kind of thing just wasn't in the cards for people like him. "All I want is to live my life, just like anyone else."

"Looks to me like you're doin' a whole lotta survivin' and not a whole lotta livin'," she remarked. "But what's an old lady know about that, eh?"

He didn't feel like bothering to grace that statement with a direct answer. "I don't see what this has to do with the dog."

She laughed at him again. "Nothin' at all, kid. Nothin' at all."

 


	3. 3: fatigue and rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got way longer - and way more intense - than I intended it to be. Initially, I intended for a lot of characters to be in the dark about major plot things. But Ted's perceptive, and he doesn't like to play by the scripts I set out for him. 
> 
> Yes, this is the chapter where we meet Ted. I think you guys will like him. o3o

Harkness didn't initially intend to stay with the humans, but that's how things ended up panning out anyway. They asked him to stay for dinner, then Sturges needed help with setting up a generator, then Preston wanted a second pair of eyes to go hunting with him, and before Harkness really knew what was happening, he'd been adopted as a member of their ragtag little group in a way that reminded him distinctly of how Rivet City had treated him. This was made all the worse by the fact that he'd been unconsciously doing the Security Chief Thing again, only realizing it after he'd long since started feeling responsible for these people.

But on the plus side, sticking with humans was a good way to shake the Institute off his back. It gave him an alibi that travelling alone didn't, even if it put the humans in question in danger if he ever _was_ found out. And yeah, maybe he was worried about that - the whole responsibility thing made it impossible not to, what with these humans being squishy and killable as most humans tended to be - but if it came down to it, he could always just leave again like he had every other time it became dangerous for him to stay somewhere.

Until then, though, they were safer with him on their side and protecting them from the Commonwealth's nightmares, so he had no choice but to stay. It would be the human thing to do, and he needed to look as human as possible.

And then Preston had to go and suggest something so bafflingly stupid one evening in the living room of their designated main building that Harkness wondered all over again whether leaving would be the safer option.

"You want to bring back the Minutemen," he deadpanned.

Preston ducked his head sheepishly. "I know it sounds crazy," he said, "but I think we could do some real good."

"There's literally one left."

"Could be two?" Preston suggested.

Harkness levelled what was supposed to be a withering look at the man. It didn't work; Preston still had that hopeful gleam in his eyes. "I'm not exactly Minutemen material."

"Better at it than me. Sure as hell get less people killed."

A pause as he considered just how the hell he was supposed to answer that, then, "--no comment."

Preston took that as encouragement to continue. "Look, I can't do this alone. But you? You could take on every raider in the Commonwealth, easy."

"Depends on how well-armed they are."

"That's not a denial."

Harkness shook his head. If he were the sort of person to roll his eyes, he would have done so. "It doesn't matter whether I could or not. By myself, I can protect a small group of people, sure. But if I recall correctly - and you can correct me if I don't - the Minutemen have more of a mission of protecting the whole Commonwealth. At a minute's notice."

"Right..."

"And you think we can do that. Just the two of us."

"Not _just_ the two of us. Once we get more people--"

"More people," Harkness repeated flatly. "Is this more people who know about me, or more people taking this on blind faith? Or more people who could be spies? If the Institute finds out about me, they're not just going to send a bunch of Gen 2s. They're going to send Coursers, and they're probably going to send as many as they can spare."

Preston's features crinkled. "What's a Courser?"

Harkness made an irritated noise. " _I'm_ a Courser."

"Oh." This was enough to make Preston pause, his face screwing up for a second. He sat back for a moment, frowning, and looked Harkness over like he was trying to decide something. Then he was back to having his elbows leaned against his knees as he sat on the edge of his chair, closer to Harkness. "Well, I think you could handle it?"

Several seconds ground by as Harkness debated his options. In that time, he couldn't help a certain comparison that came to mind regarding Preston: the man was looking at him in about the same way the dog did sometimes. It was a sad, woeful kind of look, and in this case at least, Harkness was fairly sure it was genuine; Preston really was miserable. A desperate man, clinging to hope wherever he could find it after having lost so much.

But placing his hope in the hands of someone like Harkness?

"I'll think about it," Harkness eventually said. "But I'm not making any promises."

Preston beamed at him. And just like with the dog, Harkness knew he was doomed.

\---

The idea wasn't much of a change from the usual routine they'd built up over the past few days. Go hunting for food, but keep an eye out for folks that could use a hand in the meantime. Keep scavenging nearby, but watch for any signs of people that might need help with raiders or pest problems. Find traders nearby and get a feel for what their routes are, but ask them if they've heard anything new about settlements in the area while doing so.

It was all pretty basic, and Harkness was secretly glad that he wasn't being expected to do much yet. Although this had less to do with him being loathe to help out and more to do with how shit these humans were at planning; as directionless as they were, he didn't necessarily trust them to give orders because he was fairly sure those orders wouldn't be all that thoroughly considered. Even when it just came to hunting with Marcy or Sturges or Preston, Harkness found himself defaulting to calling the shots more often than not.

And the amount of times he'd had to remind them to stay away from that senile Handy was getting downright ridiculous. Even the dog was better at listening than Jun was. No, they couldn't try to scrap it for parts, they'd end up getting hurt. Yes, he was sure. No, Sturges, he wasn't going to have this conversation again.

One week into his stay, he gave up and took Marcy and the dog with him on a trip southward. And when she asked where they were going, he told her the truth: there was an old church that had an underground passage which led into a military storage facility, where they'd almost certainly find some pulse grenades to deal with the Handy.

"But to get in, we'll need ammo to deal with the automated defenses," he explained. "There's a cache in Lexington." A Railroad cache, if it hadn't been looted already.

"Can't we just use the ammo to kill the Handy?" Marcy asked. She'd taken up the shotgun, and was clutching it tightly in her calloused hands. Too tightly, enough to make him doubt his decision to get her to switch away from a pistol; she'd break a wrist if she tried to shoot it like that. He'd have to work with her on her technique at some point.

He tried to ignore it as he continued with, "too much collateral. I'm guessing if that Handy's been guarding it for any length of time, we want what's in that house. A pulse grenade will disable it without damaging the house or what's in it. It'll also leave the Handy mostly intact, which means more parts to sell." And no explosion from clipping the microfusion cells accidentally with a stray bullet, which would ruin a hell of a lot more than just the Handy and the house it was guarding.

"And how do you know all this anyway?" She leaned in close and lowered her voice to a conspiratory whisper. "This some kind of synth thing?"

"Something like that." He wasn't about to tell her that such sites were common hiding places for runaways, or that he knew about it because the Institute had already raided it for raw materials and plasma weapons, or that he knew about the cache because he'd passed it as a Courser unknowingly and later recognized the railsign as a runaway. "Just be on your guard. Lexington's a hotspot for ghoul activity."

"Great. Going into a death trap. Why are we doing this again?"

"To get you people off my ass about the Handy," Harkness said bluntly, and Marcy snorted; out of the corner of his vision he saw her grip on the shotgun relax, and he was able to relax somewhat in turn.

In truth, it was more complicated than that. Harkness liked being prepared in general, and the more armed he was, the safer he felt. If he were to partner up with Preston on this Minutemen thing, then he'd rather be ready for a fight if their call to action got intercepted by the wrong people. He hadn't been kidding about the Coursers; just thinking back on the conversation had him glancing occasionally at the sky, watching nervously for familiar black shapes overhead. The whole time they were headed southward, his background applications carried an undertone of anxiousness that was just enough to mildly clog his processes.

Could he take on whatever the Institute threw at him? He honestly didn't know. It'd been over ten years. He'd been an obsolete model in the eyes of the Institute long before he'd fled. Not human enough to meet the standards set by the newer models. He remembered how Zimmer used to brush aside such things, telling him he was unique. Exceptional. A cut above the rest.

Of course, Zimmer had spouted so much bullshit over the years that there was no way of knowing what was true and what wasn't. All he knew for sure was that if he saw one of those signature black coats coming for him, he'd feel a hell of a lot safer if he had enough bullets, grenades, missiles, and mines to make sure it never came for him or anyone else ever again. That was just how he worked. It was why Zimmer and his pet had been reduced to puddles of plasma on the science lab floor; clear and concise victory was one of the few ways he ever had of being certain of his own safety.

A soft whine down by his leg drew him out of his thoughts; he looked down only to see the dog leaning over to nuzzle him, pushing its nose into his hand. Sighing, he gave in to the big sad eyes and reached over to give the dog a scratch behind the ear.

Well, at least he wasn't alone.

\---

The walk to Lexington was long, and Marcy was twitchy. All Harkness had to do to was ask her if she was alright, and a flood of words would pour out. He figured she needed the outlet, so he let her do most of the talking; about Jun, about raiders, about the Commonwealth, about the upcoming winter and what they were going to do for food and shelter when the cold fall rains turned to snow. Little things, big things. He didn't press her for details, letting her go at her own pace as they walked.

And then just before they got to the shadow of a crumbling overpass, she stopped. She stared, then frowned, and peered into the distance.

"What's that?" She pointed at a crumbling building just up the road. A bombed-out general store, with the top floor exposed to the elements by virtue of lacking a roof.

Harkness followed her gaze and saw, after a half-second's staring, a light blinking on and off in sequence. Bright red and hard to see in the daylight as it fired off into the sky. A laser? Not an Institute one, if so; their laser weapons ran on a different frequency, shining white-blue instead of red. This one looked pre-war, about the same frequency a protectron used in fact. And it looked like--

"Think it could be a trap?" Marcy asked.

"It's morse code," Harkness said.

"Morse code? What--" He broke into a run and her words turned into a squawk. "Harkness! What the-- shit!"

A protectron, firing off an SOS. That mattered. Because a protectron under normal circumstances wouldn't do shit like that. But how many people knew how to reprogram protectrons? And how many of those knew morse code?

It was a very Railroad thing to do.

"I'll explain later," he told her as he ran. She cursed as she struggled to keep up, even while the dog was right at her heels. His long strides ate up the distance quickly, and she almost had to take two to every one of his. Down the road, beyond the overpass. Closing distance meant the resolution of the image he was seeing improved with every step.

He vaulted the rusted barricade at the side of the road, pushed aside the broken chain-link fence. By then he was way ahead; he could see a few dead ghouls in what used to be a small parking lot off to the side, burned by laser fire. A smattering of blood on the ground. Whoever it was, they were hurt.

Jaw set in a grim line, Harkness arrived at the door to the bombed-out building and headed inside, making his way up what remained of the stairs. The wood creaked under his feet, dust raining down from the remaining quarter of what had been the second floor's ceiling. He didn't cough, but his sensors registered the particulates and issued a brief air quality hazard message at the shift.

He stopped when he heard a voice. "Not a zombie, are you?" It was weak and thready, a reedy nasal tenor. "Don't sound like a zombie. Far as I can tell, zombies don't wear boots."

"I'm not a zombie," Harkness said. He stepped forward, into the light. Peering between the partly-upturned store shelves and piles of rubble. He heard a faint beep, and saw the protectron lower its arm and stop firing, partially obscured by a shelf.

"Cool." Shifting, then a grunt as whoever it was presumably attempted to shift themselves from the floor to a standing position. "Ah, shit. Headrush. Alright."

"Is there a problem?" he asked. There was a laugh, and then the source of the voice came out from behind a magazine stand, leaning heavily against it.

Pale. So very pale. That was the first thing Harkness noticed. Pale skin, red-rimmed eyes with colorless irises, a fluffy white mess of hair. Clad in the blue and yellow of a vault, ill-fitting on a rail-thin frame. There was a partly-healed gash along one arm, with blood smeared on the screen of the pip-boy that was on the other. Was he slouching, or just short? Probably both; he looked like he was in rough shape, rougher than the relative injury would imply.

Frankly, he looked ill.

"Came out here looking for meds, got attacked by zombies," he said with a shrug. His respiration was off too, but he was hiding it between little sighs and pauses in his speech. Like he had practice with doing just that. "Cleaned it up, did a patch job with the laser from Fisto over here," at which point he gestured to the protectron, "but that was the last of my clean water and I lost a decent amount of blood. Tried drinking from a stream nearby but I think I got about three years' worth of rads in the process, even after I boiled it."

"You need to do more than just boil it," Harkness said.

"Kinda figured that out, yeah." The vaultie smiled, crooked and lazy.

Harkness doubted he was part of the Railroad, but-- "I don't suppose you have a geiger counter?"

The vaultie lifted up his pipboy. "Right here."

"Good. You'll need it." Shit. It was always awkward when they didn't know the code phrase. It was possible they'd changed it since Harkness had last come into contact with a tourist, but the more likely scenario was that this guy just never knew it in the first place.

Luckily, he was saved from any further awkwardness by Marcy choosing that exact moment to come bounding up the stairs. "Alright, are you gonna tell me what the hell's going on or--"

She stopped when she saw the vaultie, who smirked and waved at her. He was leaning more heavily on the magazine stand by the minute, and obviously not in the best shape; Marcy saw this immediately and frowned.

Then she pointed at him and gave Harkness a stern look. "Who's he? _Friend_ of yours?"

"No idea," Harkness said honestly. He turned his gaze back on the vaultie. "Which vault did you come out of?"

"Vault 111." The man smiled in a mirthless, bitter way as he observed the pair of them. "Now would you look at that. You're both frowning."

Harkness figured he had reason enough to frown. "Vault 111 is a cryo vault," he said.

"That's the one near Sanctuary, isn't it?" Marcy snapped her fingers. "I knew it! I knew that noise wasn't 'nothing'!"

"What noise?"

"A couple of days ago. You were out with Preston. There was a noise from the vault up the hill. Sturges and I went up to check it out but we didn't find anything." Marcy held up her hands in a defensive gesture. "Hey, don't look at me! Sturges was the one who said it was probably just some old gears shifting around."

"Why wasn't I informed?"

"Sturges was the one who didn't think it was anything worth worrying about," she insisted. "He said he didn't want you to worry because he knew you would."

Harkness was going to have to have a talk with Sturges. He turned back to the vaultie, who just shrugged again.

"That probably would've been me, yeah. Sorry about that." The man folded his arms, leaned his whole side into the shelf as casually as he could. Harkness could swear his complexion was getting worse. "So. You're not zombies, you haven't shot at me yet, and I'm gonna assume you got my message..."

"Right."

"Is this the part where you kill me and take all my stuff, or are you actually here to help?"

Harkness exchanged a look with Marcy.

"Depends," she said. "What's in it for us?"

" _Marcy_."

The vaultie chuckled. "Gimme a minute to think about that one. Uh," he paused, closing his eyes and shaking his head for a second, "listen, is it alright if I sit down?"

"Go ahead," Harkness told him, and watched as the Vaultie practically slid down the shelf into a seated position, folding his legs in a semi-disoriented manner. "You look like shit."

"Hah. Yeah. Probably. Pip-boy vitals didn't look too hot last I checked and I'm pretty sure I'm dehydrated. Heartrate's also gone a little... Weird." He made a so-so gesture with his unencumbered hand. "Had worse."

"When? You were in a vault."

" _Cryo_ -vault," he corrected. "Y'know, the implication being that this was before I was frozen. I thought you'd figured that out."

"Vault 111 didn't have anyone left in it," Harkness shot back.

The vaultie looked up at him sharply, and he realized in a fraction of an instant that he'd made a mistake. "How do you know about Vault 111?" the man asked. His voice had lost all of its previous good humor.

In the span of a second, Harkness put several things together. Somewhere in between his memories and the current situation, something clicked. And in that second, the vaultie pushed himself back up to his feet, standing up to his full height to glare at Harkness.

"How the _hell_. Did you know." Colorless eyes, trained on him. Fuck. He recognized that exact hue, didn't he. "That everyone in that vault is _dead._ "

"I--"

"The records on those computers," the vaultie continued, "said that no one had been in that vault for sixty. Fucking. Years. That was the last time anyone accessed the systems. I _checked_. Whoever got in last time was so good, they didn't even use the front door." He was breathing hard, and his lips were barely a different color from his too-pale skin. "So you are going to tell me. How the _fuck_ you know what went on down there, and why when you look at me, you look like you've seen a fucking _ghost_."

Then Harkness watched, utterly speechless, as the vaultie staggered, stumbled, and fell to the floor in an ungainly heap.

 


	4. 4: lies and truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FEELINGS. SO MANY FEELINGS.
> 
> (ted smol* an he will fite u)
> 
>  
> 
> *he's actually 5'5" but as his writer I reserve the right to call him smol because I'm 6'1" and everyone is smol to me

Marcy didn't agree with Harkness on the whole 'bring the vault dweller back to Sanctuary' thing at all. The entire time the vaultie was slung over his shoulder, she seemed torn as to which of them to glare at first. The dog, meanwhile, was giving her a wide berth and staying as close to Harkness as possible. Probably for the best, given her mood; being irritable tended to make her even more jumpy than usual. It didn't help that he wasn't in the best state to talk about it either, what with him promising her an explanation and all.

But the truth of the matter was that Harkness, for all his physical strength and raw processing power, was _goddamn terrified_. This vaultie was tied to the Institute somehow, intrinsically so. If Harkness killed him, or even so much as let him die, there was no telling what might happen after that. Beyond that, he needed to know what was going on. To find out what was going on, he needed the vaultie alive.

And then there was the way the vaultie had reacted, a look Harkness wasn't sure he had a word for written in those pale eyes. An intensity that had gripped him so tightly that he'd locked up for instant. What _was_ that? It wasn't as if the vaultie could pose any real threat to him-- no human could on their own. Yet his system had reacted like this man was incalculably dangerous, like a pulse grenade going off an inch away from his face. As if his background processes had all decided at once that the statistical likelihood of this human being capable of somehow turning his CPU into a fucking brick was unacceptably high, and he needed to get away.

Locked between two potential scenarios, his CPU froze, forcing a soft reset of a handful of applications just to give himself room to breathe again. Those scant few seconds were like an eternity to a machine like him. A brief waking nightmare as he was forced to function in a suboptimal state.

He desperately needed a defrag at that point. But the vaultie's safety - followed by a very stern line of questioning - came first. A defrag took up system resources that he couldn't afford to give up just yet.

So he set off for Sanctuary with the vaultie in a fireman's carry, in case he was forced to reach for his pistol along the way, having to walk for the sake of his passenger. The road was long, but worrying was a fantastic way to waste time, and the vaultie didn't seem like he was about to wake up from his nap anytime soon as long as he wasn't disturbed too much.

About a half a kilometer away from the settlement, he said the first thing he had all journey-- a clipped order to Marcy, telling her to make sure Preston had some RadAway and stims at the ready. Thankfully, she didn't question him.

The sun was hanging low over the horizon by the time Harkness lowered the Vaultie onto a pile of stacked sleeping bags in the main house. Sturges's hands were steady as he eased the long, sterilized needle of a stimpak into the man's arm, followed by a drip of RadAway he held up in the air himself. The others hovered in a nearby doorway, peering at the stranger. His odd combination of gauntness and softness, his pasty coloration that didn't fit the implications of his features.

"That paleness," Harkness said, "it's called albinism. A mutation."

"Guess they had those before the war, too," Marcy remarked, and Harkness nodded.

He didn't say how he knew what it was.

\---

By dinnertime, they'd all wandered off to eat. Well, Harkness wasn't eating, but he lingered with the rest of the group anyway. Things were tense, quiet. Preston had tried to ask what had happened and apparently the look on Harkness's face had been enough to get him to back off.

Harkness forced himself not to watch the skies any more than usual. Not to look. If the crows were watching, then they were watching. Him watching them right back wouldn't change anything. At least Sturges had patched up the main house well enough that they couldn't see inside anymore.

Then everything was interrupted by a crash from deep inside the house.

"Where the _hell_ d'you get off saying that shit, huh?!" came an angry tenor shout. "Get the fuck outta my face!"

Preston was the first to get up and run inside, followed quickly by Sturges. Harkness realized belatedly that Mama Murphy had never come to their little outdoor dinner table.

Marcy snorted. "Someone's awake."

"Our, uh. Our guest?"

"Yeah, ya think?" She tore off another strip of roast radstag from the chunk in her hand with her teeth. "Don't worry too much, Jun. Kid's weak as a kitten."

Jun fidgeted with his fork. "I-if you say so."

Another crash came from inside the house, followed by a snarl of "get your hands off me, asshole," and Harkness had to sigh. Well. They definitely didn't tend to swear that much at the Institute.

"I'll go see what's up," he said, and headed inside after the other two.

He got in just in time for Mama Murphy to duck past him with an unreadable expression-- and to see the vaultie, who was in an awkward headlock, bite Sturges in the arm.

"Ow! Jesus--" This ended the headlock as Sturges jerked back, clutching his arm; Preston went to grab the little bastard and promptly got his instep stomped on and an elbow to the nose. There was also a shattered oil lamp on the floor, and a broken wall-mounted light fixture had gone through a recently fixed window.

But when the vaultie bolted for the door, Harkness was ready.

It didn't take much. Grabbing an arm, wrenching it around, pinning the scrappy little shit to a wall with an arm behind his back-- as a human would say, he could've done that in his sleep. All while the vaultie snarled and spat and struggled against it with what little strength he had in that rangy body of his.

"Augh, what, so you're some kinda cop too? Christ, gimme a break, here--"

The vaultie jerked, but Harkness was unmoving. "Calm down." It was an order, not a request. (He also shot a pointed look at both Preston and Sturges, and they hastily made their exit without a word of complaint, both of them all too happy to let Harkness deal with the problem.)

"Hah! Yeah, right. You try waking up to some creepy-ass old lady feeding you some kinda absolute bullshit about 'sight' and crap, then tell me _you'd_ be calm." Another jerk, then a failed attempt at a jab to the ribs. "I don't even know where the fuck I am, and you think I should be _calm!_ "

"Sanctuary Hills," Harkness told him. The struggling eased, as did some of the tension in the Vaultie's muscles. "North of Concord. West of the old quarry. South of Carlisle. I could give you coordinates if you like."

"Now you're just showing off," grumbled the vaultie. "Who the hell are you, anyway?"

"You first."

"Ted Davies."

Harkness relaxed his grip, but didn't let go just yet. "Most people just call me Harkness."

"Mononym, huh? Nice." A smirk was evident in the vaultie's - Ted's - voice. "So why is it you knew all that shit about Vault 111?"

"Long story." Harkness shifted his weight, pressing hard against Ted's back between his shoulderblades. "You promise not to bite anyone else if I tell you?"

Ted barked a laugh. "Sure, why the fuck not."

"Okay." With that, Harkness let go, stepping back to give the vaultie room to breathe. He watched as Ted shifted and stretched, flexing the wrist that had been trapped behind his back. Exhaling heavily and taking a second to rub at his chest with a wince. Had Harkness pinned him that hard to the wall?

At least he didn't look like he was about to turn blue anymore, not like before. Stims probably had something to do with that. "You're not talking," he noted.

Shit, he was perceptive. "I'm not sure where to start," Harkness said. "What is it that you do know?"

Ted rolled his eyes and relented with a tired sigh. "In 2227, the vault's systems registered someone accessing the cryo pods. In the process, all of them were inadvertently activated-- including mine." He took a breath before continuing, as if to steel himself. "I saw three people. Two in cleanroom suits, one in what looked like road leathers. The one in the leathers had a scar on his face and a magnum revolver. They took my son, and turned my pod back on. I guess the others were expendable."

Harkness wondered if anything he was thinking showed on his face. He hoped not, but he couldn't say for sure. It'd be a lie to say he didn't know this particular story. "Were there any details about the suits that stood out?"

"Yeah. A vitruvian man logo. Y'know, that uh-- that Leonardo Da Vinci thing. One of his anatomical sketches." Ted gave him a strange look, and then winced. "Christ. That bad, huh?"

Fuck. "What gave it away?"

"You do this thing with your eyebrows. It's really subtle, don't worry." Ted waved it off, and then he leaned back against the wall and folded his arms. "So, is it a good news, bad news kinda deal, or is it all bad news? Not that it gets much worse than the end of the world, but uh. Y'know what I mean."

Considering what he'd seen earlier, Harkness had a hard time reconciling the man in front of him with the vaultie that he'd met previously. "You're... Really calm about this."

"Look, there's no point in fighting shit that's already happened. I just wanna know if there's anything I can fix. If not..." Here, Ted trailed off, offering a helpless sort of smile and a shrug. "Whatever. I'll live, right?"

Harkness could only blink at the man. Right. Because those sorts of mood swings were an indicator of a stable and well-adjusted person. "Well--" He paused for a moment to pick his words. "I'm going to be honest, any information I might be able to give you is about eleven years out of date to begin with."

"That's still forty nine years worth of data I don't have, though," Ted pointed out.

"Right." Shit, he'd have to say it sometime. "I-- come from a place called the Institute. It's an offshoot of the Commonwealth Institute of Technology."

"No shit?"

"Yeah." Harkness couldn't help wondering why Ted seemed so amused by that. "After the war, their robotics division decided to take their work to its logical conclusion to aid in what they called rebuilding and 'redefining' mankind."

"I take it you don't agree with that," was Ted's observation, accompanied by a smile.

Harkness had to smile in turn. "No shit," he echoed. "The project, however, ended up stalling sometime after the turn of this century. A simple human-shaped robot couldn't mimic the complexity of a living person to the point of being able to perform all the physical and social functions of one. The hardware couldn't keep up with the software."

"So, the uncanny valley problem."

"I--what?"

"Oh, it's a robotics thing. Masahiro Mori, back in the twentieth century? He came up with it. It's a kind of-- uh, y'know what, just forget I said anything."

Something clicked for Harkness. "You-- know about robotics?"

"Buddy, I _built_ robots." Ted grinned. "I'm literally a roboticist. Worked at General Atomics. I've even got a Handy. Well, had a Handy. His name's Codsworth." He unfolded his arms to jam his hands into the pockets of his jumpsuit, rocking on his heels. "I actually went to CIT. Not at first, but like. Finished up my degree there. Took two years of robotics and software engineering at CLC first-- uh, College of Lake County, I mean. It's in northern Illinois. Was in northern Illinois. I'm babbling. Keep going! I'm definitely listening."

Harkness had literally never heard a human talk that quickly before without the aid of caffeine or software. "Well-- you might not like where this is going."

"Don't care. Lay it on me."

"Alright, well. The solution they came up with was-- you know what wetware is?"

The smile fell away from his face. "Like robobrains."

"Kind of, but the opposite of that. Remember, the software wasn't the problem. The Institute has had complex AI on lockdown for decades by that point. What they wanted was complex biomechanical systems capable of mimicking the full human range of motion to the point of being indistinguishable from a real human being. But they were missing a complete, undamaged human genome to do it with because of the effects of long-term radiation exposure."

At that point, Ted's expression drew into a tight frown. "So they went with a variation on _mine?_ "

"I'm not saying I agree with it, I'm just telling you what I know."

"Look, man. The human genome probably hasn't been 'undamaged' since the first half of the twentieth century, alright? We'd been polluting the shit out of our planet long before we bombed it to hell, and I can name at least five nuclear incidents that weren't even _bombs_ that had long-term, widespread fallout that could've affected human genetic structure in the first fifty years of post-nuclear society alone."

"Ted, I believe you." Harkness was starting to notice something: when Ted got upset, his respiration would be thrown off as a result. Any other human could get flushed, their breathing ragged. But with Ted, he would get more pale instead, his face losing what little color it had. "And for what it's worth, the Institute had to do a lot of modifications just to get what they had to a viable state, so you're not wrong."

The corner of Ted's lip twitched, but he eventually relaxed with little more than an annoyed growl. "Arrogant dickbags," he grumbled. Then, to Harkness, "so did they get their cloned meat androids or what?"

"They did. From what I understand, these days they barely have any metal at all anymore."

"And where do you fit into all this?"

Harkness didn't say anything. For several long moments, Ted only frowned at him. Then, like a dam breaking, it slowly dawned on the vaultie. And Harkness watched as the emotions played across his face - shock, regret, anger, guilt, sympathy - all in rapid succession. Like an unstable isotope bursting with energy before settling into a calmer state.

"Christ," he mumbled. "I--I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Harkness tried a smile, but Ted didn't return it, so he gave up. "Really, don't. It's not your fault."

Ted didn't dignify his statement with a response.

\---

At first, everyone was wary of Ted when he finally came outside. Not that they didn't have good reason to be, considering that Preston very much not standing on that foot and Sturges was still trying to clean his arm where he'd been bitten. Marcy looked suspicious, and Jun was obviously nervous. Mama Murphy seemed alright, but Harkness hadn't quite gotten a handle on which of her serene looks meant what yet.

But it was the Handy, who had just floated outside across the street, that made Ted gasp and take off running. "Codsworth!"

The Handy's eye stalks turned towards the noise first, then the rest of it. "As I live and breathe, it's master Ted!"

In the middle of the street, they collided. Ted was laughing as he hugged the robot fiercely, and the Handy patted him with one of its less dangerous attatchments while making sure to not point its thrusters in his direction.

"Goodness, you look absolutely terrible, sir," it said. "What on earth have you been eating? Have you been taking your medication?"

"Haven't been able to find any," he replied. "Same goes for food." The Handy tutted.

"Well we can't have that, can we? Come along then, we'll get you something straight away."

Ted rolled his eyes, and glanced back to the other humans and Harkness with an apologetic smile. "You guys, uh, got any Rad-X? I have a feeling nothing in this house that's edible is gonna _not_ be irradiated."

Harkness turned to look at the others just in time for Sturges to toss him the bottle. "Go right on ahead, boss," the mechanic said. "I mean, he ain't bit you yet."

With a nod, Harkness followed the vaultie and his robot inside with bottle in hand.

Inside, the house none of them had ever gotten to see was in remarkably good shape. The furniture was worn, but intact and unbroken. The stereo was busted, but the TV looked like it'd still work. Lights still hung above the kitchen island, and the kitchen appliances were all in their proper places even if they weren't necessarily as shiny as the day they'd been bought. It was an almost perfectly preserved pre-war home.

He watched as Codsworth pulled up a chair at the island for Ted, then turned an eyestalk to peer suspiciously at him.

"Excuse me, sir, but I don't believe you were invited to come in."

Ted patted the robot to draw its attention. "It's okay, Codsworth. He's a friend."

"A friend, you say..." Dubious, the robot looked Harkness over carefully. "He looks more like a ruffian to me."

"He's not here to steal or break anything. I promise."

The Handy scoffed. "If you say so." A tin of chips was pulled from a shelf, and a Nuka Cola from the nonfunctional fridge, before both were handed to Ted. "Here you are, sir."

"Thanks, buddy." Ted didn't even have to shoot Harkness a glance before he was being handed the Rad-X too. He mouthed the words _thank you_ and pulled a face at the irradiated pre-war food when Codsworth wasn't looking, and Harkness shook his head.

"Will the missus be joining us anytime soon?" Codsworth asked.

Ted winced visibly. "Not... No. She won't." To fend off other questions, he added, "--she was shot. Point blank."

"Good heavens, that's horrible!" The Handy whipped around and shoved itself into Ted's personal space to look him over, but Ted didn't even flinch. "I, I'm so sorry, sir, I-- is young Shaun going to be coming along then, perhaps?"

"No." Ted wilted even further, and Harkness jerked his gaze away. It felt too personal, too private for him to be intruding. Moreso when he recognized the name, the last piece to a mostly-completed puzzle. _This was the Institute's fault_. Harkness was living proof of what had been done. The synthetic cloned flesh on his metal frame was the end result of something that started with a broken family.

"Sorry," he said. "I think I'll just--"

"You don't have to," Ted cut in.

Harkness made himself look, and wondered how obvious the guilt he was feeling must be. "It would be better if I did."

"You can stay." There was an implication there, underneath his words: he didn't want to be left alone. Even Harkness could see it, could hear it, and he'd always been bad at reading people. Which meant it was obvious. And if it was obvious, then whatever was underneath that sentiment was an ugly mess.

A human would be compassionate. Ted knew he wasn't human. But none of the other humans would be up for providing that compassion, not after seeing that temper.

So Harkness pulled up a chair for himself at the counter, and stayed.

 


	5. 5: friend A

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one down in a little over a day. I meant to post it a bit earlier, but life got in the way. Not sure I'll be posting as quickly for the next few days, I've got a busy weekend planned so I won't have as much time on my hands to write. (I'm going to the county fairgrounds! Woo! Animals!)
> 
> The last scene was going to be one with Ted, but since this fic has a larger cast than just the two of them, I decided to give it to Preston instead. I want to have a more organic progression with the Minutemen questline anyways.

The next day - day eight with the humans, day two with Ted - everyone woke up at their usual times. The standard morning meeting was called on the front porch of the main house. Ted was late by a good ten minutes, even after Jun had gone in to get his attention beforehand; he came to the table clean-faced and smelling like aftershave, with vaguely damp hair.

"Pipes still work," he declared as he sat down in a creaky folding chair. "Or at least they do in my house. Water's not exactly clean though. What's the plan?"

"That depends on what you can do," Harkness told him. "Around here, everyone pitches in a little. As much as they can."

"Doesn't sound too hard." Leaning back, Ted propped his feet up on the salvaged picnic table and tucked his hands behind his head, chair teetering precariously on two legs. "At the risk of sounding like the bourgeoisie asshole of the group, I noticed that you guys are all sleeping in the same house--"

Preston snorted. "That's because your Handy wouldn't let us in on that side of the street."

"Right, right. I get that. But he won't stop you now, so..." One hand untucked to make a vague gesture, then returned to its previous spot as he continued. "Few houses down that way was a dealer. You can probably find a stockpile of hardcore chems, not that I'm saying any of you use them but, y'know. Could earn some cash that way, I guess. Or whatever passes for cash."

"Caps," Harkness said.

"As in bottlecaps? Alright, that's fair. Hard enough to counterfeit." Ted clicked his tongue thoughtfully, then pointed in the opposite direction from before. "Down that way we had your Typical Village Doomsayer, he was a regular little ray of sunshine but he had a cellar. Bust the lock open and you'll probably find some goodies, dunno what though."

Marcy tried not to look too enthused, shifting in her chair. "Alright, I stand corrected. You're not half bad."

"Thanks. When I got cornered I was headed down to Lexington to hit up their pharmacy. Chems aren't my kinda thing, but I take some blood-thinners, and I figured their supply of less interesting drugs like that wouldn't have gone missing nearly as fast as the fancy shit. If I can find a chem lab though, I can make my own. It's pretty simple shit, we did it in college." He smirked. "As for anything else, well. Considering you're all packing heat, I'm gonna assume this isn't the best neighborhood to be unarmed in?"

Harkness nodded.

"Okay then. If I can get a terminal, some power tools, copper wire, fabric for insulation, a couple of laser pistols, some leaded crystal, and a generator, I can rig up defenses. If I can't get the generator, then get me polyurethane resin, a paintbrush you won't miss, fiberglass, rebar, wood, and a dead car, and I can probably put together something like a windmill. In a pinch, I can make everything run on microfusion cells, but what I'm thinking of will burn through 'em in like a week."

Ted just grinned as everyone stared at him.

"College," he said. "We had battlebot competitions on weekends. Wasn't a real tournament until something that was deliberately covered in fire retardant spontaneously combusted on us anyway."

Then he tipped just a bit too far back in his chair, and went crashing to the concrete with an undignified squawk, at which point the tension in the air eased as everyone was reminded that Ted wasn't nearly as impressive as he thought he was. And Harkness caught himself smiling.

\---

Somehow, Ted managed to eat breakfast with the group without pissing anyone off. He complimented Jun's cooking, laughed at Sturges telling stories and cracking jokes, covertly made obscene gestures that ended in Preston getting Nuka Cola up his nose, fed the dog under the table, and told Marcy about pre-war pollution. He even got along with Mama Murphy, and was starry-eyed as he listened to her talking about the mutant beasts of the wastes and how to survive them; he was all too eager to speculate about the reasons for certain megafauna (his word, not hers) being able to survive postwar.

When he wasn't biting anyone, he didn't do too badly at socializing.

Afterwards, he helped to clean up. Washed the cracked and dented dishes with Jun using a bucket of water from a well and talked about long-term solutions for food. He noted that the topsoil was still probably contaminated, but if they tore up the first six inches or so, fertilized heavily, and carefully monitored the soil PH, they "might be able to plant shit" come spring. Again, Ted mentioned that this wasn't quite his area, but he could probably get reference materials from any public library in the area if he could get there.

There wasn't an ounce of hesitation when Preston brought up the Minutemen. "Sounds awesome. I'm in. Just don't expect me to be all that great with firearms."

"I'm sure we can find something else for you to do," Preston said, giving Harkness a meaningful look. Harkness didn't quite know what the meaning of that look was, but he'd take Preston's word for it.

Ted nodded, before craning his neck to look around for Sturges and calling out, "hey, Sturges! What do you know about plywood?"

Everyone earned their keep, and Ted was quickly demonstrating that he was capable of doing his part. Harkness, who was used to solving things with stealth and occasionally muscle, wasn't used to seeing that kind of manic energy and enthusiasm. Ted was the opposite of stealth. He was loud, his plans were grandiose and unsubtle, his ideas were complex and smacked of impatience.

When he was done with dishes, he tossed the dirty towel over his shoulder and came over to where Harkness was leaned against the main house to grin at him. "So. Library?"

"The nearest one is downtown," he replied.

"I love that you know that. You're like an encyclopedia." Ted followed one of his upward glances and raised an eyebrow before looking back at him. "Birdwatching?"

"There's a reason for it."

A headtilt coupled with a curious frown. "Is it a Big Brother kinda reason? 'Cause that's the way you're acting."

"Big Brother...?"

"Oh, uh. Book reference. _1984_ , George Orwell." Ted rubbed the back of his neck. "You don't read much, do you."

"Never had time. Or a reason." Harkness smiled; since it was deliberate, it probably looked off. He'd never quite been able to get it right if he was doing it on purpose. "In case you haven't noticed, free time is a luxury these days."

"Yeah, no shit." Ted snickered to himself and shook his head. "Well, I've got some books back at the house if you're interested. Holofilms too. Some of 'em even have, uh--" here, he glanced at the sky as well, squinting at the circling crows, "--y'know. Shit you'd probably be interested in. Robots."

Right. "Doesn't old media usually have a habit of making them out to be monsters?"

"Not all of it. A lot of it, yeah, but I didn't tend to buy that kinda shit. Except _Metropolis_ , but that's like, a classic piece of anti-capitalism. And _2001!_ Seriously, I'll maintain that it wasn't HAL's fault to my dying day." He fidgeted, ducking his head. "And maybe _Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep_. I only own that one because it's a classic example of what not to do, alright? The film's way better with the moral ambiguity than the book is."

"You know a lot about this," Harkness said. "If you have all these books, why don't you have the reference material you were talking about?"

"Because I didn't _do_ home improvement shit pre-war. My wife did. Or we hired a contractor. Or rented a construction model Protectron." Ted was actually pouting. "I can build or fix a robot blindfolded with one hand tied behind my back, I can draw up a schematic for a turret or a photovoltaic cell in my sleep, I can recite the three laws of robotics from memory. But I've never shot at anyone with anything bigger than a plastic water pistol, or reupholstered a couch, or replaced shingles on a roof. So sue me."

Harkness considered this for a moment. "The three laws of robotics?"

"Jeeesus Christ you don't know anything." Ted blinked for a second before putting his hands up in a placating gesture. "Not that that's a bad thing. It's just, uh." Those same hands were quickly stuffed into his jumpsuit's pockets. "Y'know what, nevermind, I'm going home. Gonna go fix that clunk Codsworth seems to've developed over the years."

And Harkness watched, baffled, as Ted hastily wandered off in the direction of his house with downcast eyes and a flush spreading across his face.

\---

The chems they found in the dealer's house were like a gold mine, while the _actual gold bars_ they found in the locked cellar down the road were just a bonus. Harkness took to the road again with the dog at his side to find a trader, and came back with a last harvest of mutfruit and melons, along with two bottled half-gallons of milk and a five pound sack of flour. He didn't even have to sell most of the chems to do it, either; a couple of syringes of Day Tripper was more than enough, and the gold bars netted him a decent sum of caps on top of that.

If it were silver, he would've made more. Silver was actually useful; there was a market for it, even if the main customers were usually Gunners. But the applications of gold were well beyond what the resources of a small settlement could manage.

When he returned, Preston was quick to track him down and fall into step with him. "About those turrets--" he began.

Harkness sighed. "What is it."

"If we can get some working defenses up around the perimeter, we won't need patrols anymore." Preston looked like he was bursting to tell Harkness about whatever was going on in his head. It was a good look on him. "We could go farther afield. Actually start helping people."

"Yeah, I know." It was something Harkness had been considering too. "And if Ted's up for it, we can build those turrets for other people on top of that. That way people don't blame us if these new Minutemen they keep hearing about don't get there quite in time."

Preston beamed. "Now you're getting it."

"Then there's the robots," Harkness continued. "They'd make for better patrols, better night guards. If he can build them - maybe get Sturges to help - we can send them anywhere." Up the hill, to the main house. A microfusion cell had been rigged up to power an old fridge in the kitchen, and that was where Harkness was headed. "But we'd need tools. A better workbench, not just the ones sitting behind the car port out back. Generators. A good supply of fusion cores."

"Having more people to look for salvage could help with that," Preston said. "But us being free to do our own scavenging more often would probably be step one."

Into the kitchen, towards the fridge. The flour went in an overhead cabinet while the milk and mutfruit went in the fridge; the melons didn't fit, so Harkness left them on the counter. They'd need to be eaten first. "We're actually doing this, aren't we?"

Preston stood in the doorway and watched, silhouetted by the light from a lamp in the main room. "Seems like it."

"We're painting a target on ourselves."

"Better us than civilians, right?"

"Right." Harkness looked in the direction of the house across the street, even though he was unable to see it from inside the main building. He heard the telltale sounds of industry and productivity even from afar; the whirring of a drill, the clanking of a hammer. "What do you think he's doing in there?"

"Honestly? I dunno. Said he was working on his robot." Preston folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. "Me, I think he's just keeping himself busy. I mean, to him the bombs fell just a few days ago. It's probably easier for him to throw himself into his work than it is to think about it."

Harkness couldn't say if that was right or not, but it sounded like it made sense. "There are geniuses in the Institute, but--" none of them had ever _apologized_ to him "--I don't think I've ever met one that curses that much."

"Hah! Yeah, somehow I don't think the Institute would think biting or trying to break someone's foot are go-to methods of self defense, either." It was good that Preston was taking that little outburst in stride. "I'm glad he's on our side."

"So am I," Harkness replied. It felt like an understatement.

 


	6. 6: face the reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LONG CHAPTER IS LONG JFC
> 
> Remember how I said one of the other chapters had feelings? This chapter has even MORE feelings. Might wanna bring a tissue. Ted doesn't cope badly so much as he just refuses to cope, meanwhile Hark just dissociates so hard he clips through the floor and into an alternate dimension where FO3 was actually made based off of the Van Buren concept.
> 
> The specific problem with Ted's heart is a congenital malformation, for anyone wondering. Over the years the heart muscles became enlarged from having to work that much harder to pump blood, and after a couple of scares, he ended up having a stent put in to keep the blood flowing like it should. Still needs blood thinners though. And knowing prewar tech, the pacemaker battery and the stent itself are probably going to outlive him by about fifty years if he doesn't live to go ghoul. 
> 
> I refuse to write anything where the "disabled" character has an unspecified cough thing with vague symptoms that's completely untreatable and then they die for woobie points. >:U

On day three of having Ted around, Harkness tossed him a spare 10mm pistol they'd found in the cellar and told him 'you're coming with me.'

Ted caught the pistol, stared at it, held it between his thumb and forefinger like it was contaminated with a variant of the black plague. "Wwhhhyyyy...?"

"Because you need to learn to survive out here." Then, because Ted was giving him a skeptical look, "--and because everyone else is busy. We've got enough people to hunt and salvage at the same time now, especially with your Handy on guard duty."

"Oh." A moment of consideration, then Ted shrugged and began to stuff the pistol in one of his jumpsuit's pockets; Harkness sighed and yanked it out of his hands to put the safety on, earning a squawk. A squawk that was much better than watching Ted shoot his own dick off.

Even Jun was better with a weapon than this guy. "Don't point it at anything you're not comfortable shooting, always consider the possibility of a ricochet, and keep your finger off the trigger unless you're going to fire it." Making sure that he was watching, Harkness demonstrated how to eject the magazine and reload, then held it in his hands as if he were the one using it. "Hold it like this," he said. "Not too tight, but not so loose it flies out of your hands. This thing doesn't have too much recoil, but it still has some. Enough to sprain your wrist if you're not careful."

He handed it back, and Ted blinked at it. This time, he was more careful putting it away in one of the utility pouches on his belt. "Anything else I should know?"

"Yeah. Listen to me, and don't get dead." Harkness smirked. "We leave in ten minutes. Grab whatever you'll need."

"Got it." A pause. "Hey, Harkness?"

Since Harkness was just about to head off to grab his own gear from inside, Ted trying to continue the conversation caught him a little off-guard. He turned to look at the man, who seemed oddly small standing in the middle of the street with his oversized jumpsuit and messy, fluffy hair. "Yes?"

"Uh..." Ted's lower lip was briefly caught between his teeth. "Where are we going, exactly?"

"Bedford Station. It's just south of the quarry." If he remembered right - and if things hadn't changed that much - there would be a Railroad cache there.

But Ted seemed confused. "Okay, so not to the library then?"

What? "I told you, the nearest library is downtown."

"Yeah, and?"

"It's too far right now? We'd need more than just a day to get there and back." That, and it was some nasty territory to try and cross with a rookie. "Once we get the turrets up, then sure."

"Oh! You didn't say that." Ted smiled, apologetic. "Alright. Sorry I got mixed up for a second there. It's not like I can read your mind, y'know?"

Harkness shook his head and turned back towards the main house. "Ten minutes," he said again. Even though it was actually closer to nine.

\---

The walk to the station wasn't that long. East from Concord, or south from the quarry; either worked as a landmark. Not that Harkness needed landmarks, but humans did, so he figured if he followed them it would help to ease suspicion more than going in a precise, straight line would. Subtlety was important when one was trying to play a part; there was a lot more to being human than just telling people that was what he was and hoping for the best.

And then there was Ted, who apparently didn't know the meaning of subtlety as he chattered endlessly about whatever popped into his head, his borrowed tool belt gently clanking with each step.

"--so I told the officer, 'hell yeah I'm crazy, in fact right now I see a communist unicorn standing behind you, and he totally agrees with me on your hairpiece looking like a dead cat.' And that's how I got sent to Parson's for a week." Ted was entirely too pleased with himself about this. "I was kidding about the unicorn, by the way. I don't actually see shit like that. Doctor Cabot was pretty cool about the whole thing. I don't know what kinda strings he pulled, but basically he told me that me being there was a waste of resources and that my case was already well-managed."

"Your case?" For some reason, Harkness was still humoring him and not telling him to shut up and lay low. "You actually had one?"

"Well, yeah. It's on the books. Was on the books, I mean. I was on antidepressants from when I was about fifteen all the way through college. Both my parents were doctors, and my mom caught onto something being wrong pretty early. Manic depressive borderline. No hallucinations though, thank Christ." Then he laughed, a nervous sound that bubbled up out of him. "Well, not without some seriously bad drug interactions. I kinda can't take Med-X. That was a fun one to figure out."

"Noted."

"I also really shouldn't take Jet or Day Tripper. And Buffout might make my heart explode." Quite the list. "There's some antibiotics I can't take too. Oh, and I'm allergic to cats."

"Anything else?"

"I'm. Not allowed to eat grapefruit?" Ted scratched his head, shifted the weight of the bag across his shoulders. "I've got a tiny defibrilator in my chest? I had open heart surgery about six years ago?"

"Wouldn't be six years anymore."

"Right, right. Uh, what else..." He jogged a little to catch up, ending up ahead and promptly slowing down. Keeping pace wasn't his strong suit, but he wasn't complaining either, even as they crested a hill; the roof of the switching station was in sight. "Uhhhh alright. What about you? What's with your face?"

"Deathclaw."

"Ooh, sounds friendly. What's that, some kind of bear?"

"No. Bears are yao guai. Deathclaws are..." Harkness paused; he didn't know. "Some kind of lizard."

Ted's face scrunched up. "How the hell did a lizard slice your face open?"

"You'd know if you ever got the chance to see a deathclaw." Hadn't Ted used a word the day before that fit--? "It's one of your megafauna."

"Ohhh! Got it, got it." Then Harkness stopped, holding up a hand, and Ted was forced to stop too. "Huh? What's up?"

Harkness indicated up ahead with a gesture, pulling out his own silenced pistol. Ted had to squint to follow his gaze; Harkness suspected some kind of vision problem. "Up ahead. By the tracks."

"What is it-- oh!" Ted nodded quickly. "Zombies. Got it."

"Ghouls."

"'Scuse me?"

"They're called ghouls." It only took a moment for Harkness to double-check his ammo count. More than enough. "These ones are feral. Radiation affects everyone differently."

"Holy shit. So radiation did that?"

"It doesn't always." Harkness stepped forward a bit, surveying the trainyard. As far as he could see, there were only four. But the traincars were obscuring a good portion of his field of view, as was the building. He took aim. "Be ready."

"Ready for wh--" Ted jerked back when Harkness fired; silenced or not, it was still a gunshot. Then another, then another. Perfect aim, three headshots and three sleeping ghouls dispatched. "Jesus, fuck, okay. Remind me not to piss you off."

Harkness smirked as he took aim at the fourth ghoul, already rousing from its slumber to blink at him. It was still daylight out, with no cover on the hill, but Harkness had a good vantage point. He shot the fourth ghoul dead, then a fifth the second it popped its head out where he could see it. After that he allowed himself to relax, lowering his pistol.

Wordlessly, he headed for the building. It had to be around somewhere. Not there, no, wait-- _yes_.

"See this?" He pointed to a design in flaking white paint on a piece of plywood propped up against the side of the building. A simplistic box-and-triangle house, with eight lines around it drawn like rays of light. "This means we're in the right place--" Wait. "Ted?"

"Uh." The vaultie's voice was coming from around the other side of the building. He sounded shaken. "I, uh. I think you should come and see this."

That couldn't be good. "What is it?" The building wasn't big; it only took a moment for Harkness to come around to where Ted was. Overhead, the spotlight was shining down on--

"I don't think this guy was killed by the zombies." On the ground, there was a corpse. Dressed in a patchy red leather jacket and torn khaki pants, a pipe pistol clutched loosely in his hand. Face scorched to the bone by laser burns.

There was a sudden hitch in his processes, in his breathing. He could only watch as Ted sucked in a shuddering breath before kneeling down to search the corpse's pockets; his legs felt like they were going to give out if he moved. How long had this agent been here?

"Found a note," Ted informed him, standing back up. Handing it over. Harkness took it and unfolded it with hands that were far steadier than his thoughts were.

As soon as he'd read it, he folded it back up and tucked it jerkily into the pocket of his own coat. He didn't know how he managed to move, but somehow he did, his legs taking him back around to the other side of the building and up the creaking stairs. _The package arrives at midnight_. How many days ago? This shit had been right under his nose!

Upstairs there was a desk, a chair, a terminal, boxes full of files, a lantern on the desk, a pistol on the floor. Harkness wasn't looking at any of those things when he got there. He was looking at the splatter of blood, still tacky where it covered the desk, the chair, part of the floor. Some of it had even sprayed across the keys of the terminal. He bent over it, having to remind himself to breathe at regular intervals as his fingers flew over the keys. He didn't even hear Ted coming up behind him, standing in the doorway. Didn't register that he was being watched.

Finally, _finally_ , one of the old passwords worked. There were no entries, no text files. Just an application to control the spotlight and a notification that there was a holotape waiting to be ejected.

He played the holotape. By the time it was finished, Harkness was gripping the edge of the desk so tightly that he'd warped the metal that sat underneath the peeling laminate. He didn't realize his eyes were burning until he felt Ted's hand squeezing his shoulder.

A9. God, he hadn't even gotten a name yet. And the Institute didn't even have the decency to leave the body behind for a burial. Harkness choked on air when he tried to breathe. He could've stopped this. He could've helped. Could've saved them.

"I'm sorry," Ted mumbled. And for once, that was all he had to say.

\---

There was only a handful of ghouls left down the tracks, and Harkness dispatched them without fanfare. They found the cache in one of the traincars - full of clothes and bullets and food, all the things a fleeing synth might need - and another laser-mangled body behind a small water tower. Another agent, or maybe their tourist contact. Harkness couldn't say for sure. But she'd been young before she'd been shot, barely any crows' feet or lines on her face at all, and the sight of her body lying there pulled something in his chest tight as a bowstring.

In the main depot, they found a gas leak. Harkness was a little stunned that Ted noticed it almost as soon as he did, blinking as the vaultie cited the smell. "Makes the inside of my nose all prickly," he said, pulling what a large, dingy piece of cloth from one of his pockets and wrapping it around his face. "Don't make any sparks."

"Right," Harkness said. He was still lagged badly enough that he didn't start picking through the salvage until long after Ted had already started.

All told, they were at it for over an hour. Ted was the one who took charge for the most part, pointing out things that Harkness should just ignore and things he'd missed that were actually useful. At one point something even caught Ted's eye in the rafters, leading to him creating a makeshift ladder out of teetering filing cabinets; he came back with a hunting rifle and a small, miserably battered laser pistol.

Harkness suspected that he was only given the hunting rifle because Ted's vision was, based on observation at least, absolute garbage beyond about fifteen feet. As far as most other things went, Ted seemed more inclined to badly overencumber himself than he was to actually share the load with someone more capable of carrying it. The only exceptions were things that were literally too bulky for him to lift along with everything else, like a massive, untouched gas tank, or an intact terminal. Everything else went in either Ted's pockets, his bag, or tucked inside the excess fabric of the jumpsuit like the whole thing was one big pocket.

On the way back, the silence eventually got to be too much for Ted, and he started humming. Singing, too. Harkness only half-listened. It wasn't off-key, so he couldn't see a reason to complain. Made for better background noise than the mess inside his head. The holotape, playing over and over. Threatening to strangle his CPU, to drown him in its contents along with his memories.

He was just as out of it when they arrived back at Sanctuary, and stayed that way through dinner. He knew, of course, that the others would notice. But if they did, none of them said anything. No one tried to bring him into their conversations or snap him out of it. They left him alone, and he was fine with that. This was one thing he'd always been alone with.

"Hey."

Harkness blinked. There, in front of him, was Ted. He hadn't noticed at first; the top of the vaultie's head was below his eye level, even with a couple of inches of fluffy hair to consider.

In the low light of the evening, Ted looked even more washed out than usual. The dark circles under his eyes stood out more prominently, making it seem like he hadn't slept in days. It struck Harkness that he didn't know whether that was actually the case or not. "So, I was thinking..."

"Yes?"

"Well, I don't _actually_ know whether you grow hair or not, but..." Ted glanced up at him, nervous. "You just-- i-it kinda looks like you haven't shaved in a while, is all."

Actually... "I haven't." Harkness reached a hand up, ran it over his chin. He hadn't even so much as looked in a mirror in a while. "Usually I have a barber do it for me, whenever I can find one."

"Well, I have a working sink. A mirror. Running water. Shaving cream, a razor." Tentatively, Ted offered up a smile. "If you wanna make use of it, I mean."

"Rather not have to do it myself." At Ted's confused headtilt, he added, "I have a... A programming error, I think. End up nicking myself in the face every time. Same spot." He lifted his head and pointed to where he knew there was a faint white scar on the underside of his jaw. "See?"

"Uh-huh." The vaultie considered this for a few seconds, gnawing on his lip. "I guess, y'know. I could do it."

Harkness couldn't think of a reason to say no. And thus, he followed Ted over to his house. Into his house. For the second time in three days.

Instead of being in the living room where it belonged, the furniture had been moved into the carport. The TV had been taken apart, as had the stereo; instead of a rug, there was a patchwork of tarps covering the floor. Tools were scattered everywhere: a soldering iron, a power drill, wire cutters, a pipe wrench. There was even a paintbrush and a can of something that looked like sealant from the decaying label. Only the kitchen portion of the room was still intact, untouched by Ted's manic productivity by virtue of being a necessity.

Then he was led down the hall, catching a glimpse of a laundry room with an old box of Handy parts, a room that was very much not for visitors with the door held shut by about eight layers of duct tape, and what looked like a bedroom (inside of which there was a very, _very_ packed bookshelf). He didn't get to examine any of this further, however, before he was dragged into the bathroom.

And while the almost perfectly untouched fixtures and flooring _were_ impressive, he couldn't help but notice something else that was glaringly obvious.

"There's no chair...?" He looked to Ted for clarification, but Ted was hopping up on the sink to sit on the edge of it, blocking the mirror. Already taking his shaving implements in hand. "What are you doing?"

"I sit, you stand." Ted grinned. "Don't worry, it can hold me. It could hold my wife, and she used to do this all the time for me." Then the grin softened to something different. A look Harkness wasn't sure he'd seen yet, didn't know the meaning of. Not coming from Ted. "Rani would, ah... She'd do this for me when she knew something was wrong. Get me to talk. I wasn't originally gonna do it like this, I was just gonna sit in the other room. Talk through the wall. But, uh..."

Harkness stared at him, baffled. Dumbfounded. Why...?

"You, uh." Clearing his throat, Ted looked Harkness right in the eye and smiled. "You look like you could use someone to talk to. About earlier."

"I don't--" Harkness choked on his words, shook his head, forced himself to breathe again. His voice was small when he eventually spoke. "I don't know where to start."

The shaving implements were set down, and Ted reached for his hands. Guided them to either side of the large sink, tugged him forward. They were close. So close that Harkness could pick up the smell of aftershave as his face was patted down with a warm, damp towel. "Okay..." The lip-chewing resumed as his face was lathered up. "How about something simple. What's A9 stand for?"

"The first half of a synth designation. I don't know what the second half was." Harkness shifted his weight, closed his eyes. Relaxed. "Like a serial number."

Ted hummed. A few moments passed, and Harkness felt the first scrape of a razor, rasping over his jaw. Careful of his still-healing scars. "So what's yours?"

He hesitated, and Ted waited. Didn't move until he spoke. Harkness had a fleeting thought, wondering if Ted would give up his line of questioning if asked. But the protest never came. Harkness had no urge to fight this. "A3-21," he said. After so many years, it felt foreign in his mouth. The razor returned.

"He sounded scared," Ted remarked. There was no judgement in his tone. "And you almost looked like you were having a flashback." His fingertips were rough with callouses, but the roughness had a different pattern from what Harkness was used to. "Wanna talk about it?"

Harkness exhaled heavily, a puff of lather falling away with it. "He just wanted to live. They all do."

"And you?"

"I hunted them." He felt Ted pause, but he didn't dare open his eyes to look. "Brought them back when they ran. It's what I was made for."

"What made you stop?"

His eyes shot open. Ted was looking at him with that same intensity he'd had on the first day. That chilling, dangerous look. "I--"

Ted's brows furrowed; he sighed through his nose, shook his head. Eventually, he resumed his work with the razor. "Dumbass," he mumbled. "Don't lie. You hated it. Otherwise you'd still be doing it, not crying your goddamn eyes out over every poor bastard that deserved better."

"I wasn't crying my eyes out," Harkness protested, but it sounded hollow even to his own senses.

"You were." Here Ted smiled, setting the razor down to apply more lather. "But that's okay, y'know? Everyone cries sometimes."

"Not you."

"Hah! Me? I cry all the time. You can show me a newsreel of a firefighter rescuing a kitten and I'll bawl like a fucking baby. Shoulda seen me when I first came outta cryo. I was a wreck."

"Right."

"I was! Spent a good few hours just intermittently bursting into tears. Boohoohoohoo! Everyone I know is dead and the world's ended! There's giant cockroaches everywhere and I can't get my wife to smash them for meee!"

Harkness couldn't help it; he laughed. He knew he probably shouldn't - and it wasn't much of a laugh, more of a huff - but he did anyway, and Ted grinned even wider just hearing it.

"See? It's okay to be upset," he said, giving the razor another go with measured, methodical strokes. "And it's okay to try and move on, too. You can't just sit here all gloomy and miserable and just stew in your own guilt, man. Someday you've gotta pick yourself back up."

"And then what?"

"Thennnn yyoouu... Tell your friends and have them help you punch the shit out of whoever started it? I dunno." Ted pursed his lips. "Actually, that's not such a bad idea."

"What isn't?"

"Getting the Minutemen in on it? I dunno about Preston, but me? I'd punch out some'a those old CIT shitbiscuits just for kicks, personally. Sounds like a good time." He shrugged. "But that's just me."

It wasn't just him. But Harkness didn't get a chance to say as much, because Ted was already patting down his face again.

 


	7. 7: another world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the plot FINALLY progresses! look at these boys being all productive. 
> 
> I was gonna go places today (I REALLY WANTED to go places today) but my general chronic health stupidness got in the way and the idea got vetoed. So I napped instead. And now I'm posting. SEE? It all works out in the end. For you guys anyway. I really wanted to go places. :U dang
> 
> Speaking from experience, it takes YEARS to build up a good book collection when most of them are out of print. And there's a special place in hell for movers who let your rare special editions with authors' notes at the beginnings of them get water damaged beyond repair. Also, you know how that fourth book that got published just a little bit after the rest of the trilogy that's still really important to the canon is somehow never included in boxed sets or sold in the same print runs? I can't find my copy. I lost it sometime around when my wife visited. There has been much frantic searching. I'm tempted to make an offering to the elder gods at this point.

Ted got to work on his first turret the next day. Sturges pitched in to assist with the build, Marcy and Codsworth were put on guard duty, and Preston was sent out with Harkness to assist in scavenging, trading, and recon. Jun continued to handle food preparation, and Mama Murphy took care of the dog. Everyone had a job.

In three days, they had their first new recruit: Lucy Abernathy.

The Abernathy farmstead wasn't far from Sanctuary. Upon arrival, Harkness got a gun shoved in his face by one Blake Abernathy, who was jumpy in the wake of losing his eldest daughter to raiders. Preston was quick to assure that the new Minutemen could take care of it, and Harkness didn't bother to correct him because frankly, raiders were easy. So they headed out from the farmstead over to an old military satellite complex and, a couple of hours later, came out with the daughter's locket and an armory's worth of gear and scrap.

When they got back to the farmstead after dropping everything off at Sanctuary, they ended up in the crossfire of what seemed to be an old argument. Lucy wanted to join the Minutemen, and her father thought it was a bad idea. Harkness looked to Preston, and Preston blinked back at him in utter bewilderment, which meant solving it was up to Harkness.

"How old are you?" he asked the young woman.

She puffed out her chest and straightened her posture to try and look more imposing. "I'm almost twenty."

"Then you're old enough to make your own decisions." Before her father could protest, Harkness continued, "unless she's been raised so sheltered that she doesn't know how to shoot, in which case that reflects badly on her parents, not her."

"Damn right I do! We get muties and raiders out here all the time."

Harkness nodded, then turned to Preston. "Do you see a problem with this?"

"Not a one. As long as she knows what she's getting into." He turned that radiant smile on Lucy's father. "We'd be happy to have your daughter as one of the Minutemen, sir."

Under the weight of Preston's bright enthusiasm, even Blake Abernathy couldn't say no. And so, Lucy ran inside to grab her best patchy blue overcoat and followed them eagerly to Sanctuary, and was brought into the group as their third (fourth?) Minuteman.

A day after that, they had their first working turret.

"Alright." Ted tapped out a few commands on terminal he'd wired up to the thing as it chugged away on the roof of the main house, Sturges giving a thumbs-up from his spot on a nearby ladder. "Whenever you're ready."

Marcy nodded once, and flung the chipped ceramic plate she was holding into the air with as much strength as she could muster (which was quite a lot for a woman of her size). The turret made a clicking noise as it recognized the "threat", and snapped into position to aim; then there was a little over a tenth of a second worth of delay before the plate was shattered midair.

Ted pumped his fist in triumph. " _Yes!_ Targeting systems are functional, IFF's registering no additional threats in the area." He shot a lopsided smirk at Harkness. "Might end up accidentally shooting down some of the local wildlife, but hey, that's the price you pay, right?"

Harkness smiled. "I guess the birds will just have to learn to avoid the turrets."

"Yeah. Damn shame." Unhooking the terminal, Ted scooped it up under his arm with its weight resting on his hip and carried it back underneath the carport to set it on a workbench; the turret immediately powered down once it was disconnected. "We'll have to figure out a solution for getting all this wiring set up in a way that isn't going to electrocute anybody, but uh. I'm pretty sure once we've got it all on lockdown here, we can apply it to other places as long as we've got the scrap to do it with."

"How many more turrets can you two build?"

"I'd say about..." Ted squinted as he considered his answer. "Hey, Sturges! How many more turrets do you think we can build?"

"About three, as long as nothin' breaks. We gotta make sure we got enough spare parts to go 'round along with the turrets themselves." Sturges climbed down the ladder to the third-to-last rung, then hopped to the ground from there and started folding it back up. "If we keep enough parts for repairs, then I'd say we've got enough stuff to make two more right now."

Ted gestured to the mechanic. "There's your answer. Two so far."

"How about we put those two together and send them over to the Abernathy farmstead along with a terminal?"

"Can anyone over there even _use_ a terminal?" Ted asked, incredulous.

Lucy practically bounced up and down, waving her hand in the air. "Ooh, I can! And uh, my mom can too."

Ted peered at her for a second before shrugging. "Alright. I'll start building, and then you can help me bring it over."

"I'll do you one better, I'll bring Clarabell over to help carry it all." The young woman looked delighted at the prospect of being useful, and even moreso when Ted nodded approvingly.

"Sounds good," he said. Then he threw another glance at Harkness. "We got this. Don't worry."

"I'm not worried," Harkness insisted. Ted just laughed and went back to work.

\---

When the turret was finally set up and working - and killing a fair amount of birds in the process, much to Ted's morbid amusement - it freed up Marcy and Lucy to both go hunting and scavenging along with Preston, and Harkness could actually choose who he brought with him for once. Not to mention that whoever didn't go with Harkness would end up going with the other free hand on a second team to scour less high-risk locations and pick up things that had been missed in cleared areas.

From there, it snowballed; more supplies meant more turrets, and more turrets meant existing places could be kept safer, which freed up more people to get more supplies, and eventually led to getting even more settlements brought into the fold. Not even a week after that, Harkness found himself clearing out and setting up a settlement from scratch for the first time, and bringing Ted along to set up a small radio transmitter on one of the rooftops to get the word out that it was safe via a pre-recorded message they set up on loop.

Three weeks into knowing Ted, the Minutemen had ten people instead of two, and at least three turrets set up at every settlement they'd been to: Sanctuary Hills, the Abernathy farmstead, Tenpines Bluff, and Sunshine Tidings. Not only that, but they had found a steady trader in one Trashcan Carla.

"Hello, boys," she droned, her overloaded brahmin waddling along behind her as she strolled into Sanctuary Hills. "Anything new for me today?"

Ted put down his welding torch and pulled up his mask to grin at her, leaving the workbench behind to meet her in the middle of the street. "I dunno, beautiful, you got any of that sweet, sweet copper wire for sale?"

Carla laughed. "I could be convinced to part ways with some, sure."

"A woman after my own heart," he said with a sigh, miming an overdramatic swooning motion. After that, though, he was all business. "So. What's the market looking like today?"

"Same as always. Stims if you got 'em, chems if you don't, and water's always a hot commodity."

"Uh-huh." Ted glanced over at Harkness, who was leaned against the wall of the main house and watching the whole conversation take place. Mama Murphy had promised rain and they had enough supplies to cover a rest day, so most everyone was spending the day kicking back in one way or another. "What's the word on our water reserves, big guy?"

Harkness shrugged. "We could stand to sell some. The electrified pump is giving us a steady enough supply right now."

Ted responded with a positively wicked grin and a wink, and threw himself right into bargaining with Carla. If there was anything he was good at that wasn't science, it was math; he never lost them a single cap when he was put in charge of bartering. At first, Harkness had thought that part of it probably had something to do with Carla going easy on him because he made her laugh, but time had taught him otherwise. Ted could haggle prices even when he wasn't flirting with the person he was trading with.

In the end, Ted came out of it with an entire long spool of copper wire looped around his shoulder, a box of screws, and a handful of microfusion cells. And he was entirely too smug about it as he walked back over to the central workbench and started storing it all away for later.

"Taking notes?" he asked. "I could give you pointers. This shit's nothing compared to how bad it was pre-war."

"No thanks," Harkness replied.

"Aw, c'mon. Could come in handy."

Harkness shook his head. "Don't need it. That's what I have you around for."

"Pffh. I see how it is. You just keep me because I'm useful. And here I was under the impression that you just thought of me as eye candy." Ted draped himself over the workbench in a frankly ridiculous pose and sighed like he had for Carla, batting his eyelashes. "Honestly, what's a guy gotta do to get objectified around here?"

"Not look like a dead fish," Harkness deadpanned.

"Hah! Christ, I can only imagine how you'd react to the 'does this make me look fat' question." He returned to putting his haul away in the workbench, grinning broadly. "So, it's an off day. It's gonna rain. You're gonna be inside anyway."

"Right."

"Wanna borrow a book?"

That again. "Must I?"

"Can't knock it till you've tried it, Harkness," Ted admonished him. "C'mon, just one. If you don't like it, then I won't make you read another book ever again, I swear."

As much of a shit as Ted was, he did make an effort to keep his promises. And Harkness did like the thought of not being nagged. "I'll hold you to it," he said.

"Sweet!" The vaultie hastened to finish up his work, going from an organized system to simply jamming things in wherever they'd fit, even if they kind of didn't. "I know just the one. Gimme two minutes and I'll grab it for you."

Harkness found himself wondering just what the hell he'd gotten himself into.

\---

The book Ted handed him was titled _The Caves Of Steel_. It was a standard-sized, worn paperback with a well-thumbed cover, a cracked spine, and yellowed pages. Several pages at the beginning were taken up by an author's foreword, and when Harkness checked the publication date near the front cover, he saw that it was a reprint of a book first written in 1953, while the foreword said that the author had written his first robot story in 1939, and had been reading stories about robots himself long before that.

Already, Harkness was intrigued; this book was older than the Ted was, yet he'd still recommended it. Then, while reading the introduction, he caught a phrase that Ted had used - the Three Laws of Robotics - and began to seriously wonder if this wasn't one of the exceptions Ted had been talking about before he'd gotten de-railed talking about books that _did_ fit the standard formula Harkness knew the Institute was fond of referencing.

Soon after that, he read the first few paragraphs, was reminded instantly of what it was like to work with a Gen 2 synth, and proceeded to not put the book down again for three solid hours.

The weather had turned to a downpour by the time Harkness left the main house again; he tucked the book under his thick, lined coat and turned his collar against the chill as he crossed the street, arriving at Ted's door soaked. He knocked, and then there was an anxious half-minute of waiting before Ted answered, shirtless and in the process of towelling off his hair after a shower.

"Yeah?" The smell of polyurethane, burnt plastic, and wood sealant hit Harkness like a wave the moment Ted opened the door.

"I-- how can you live like this?" he asked.

Ted grinned his usual grin. "Y'know, Codsworth says the same damn thing," he said, before stepping out of the way to allow Harkness to pass. "Come on in."

Reluctantly, Harkness did so. He took stock of his surroundings as Ted closed the door behind him: still as much of a mess as last time, just with more things in the process of being scrapped scattered across the floor. The TV and stereo had long since been done away with, and the dining area that had once been intact had made way for a power armor station and tool chest, along with the same set of battered T-45 Harkness had found on the roof of that museum in Concord so many weeks ago; Ted had mentioned wanting to adjust it to his own size, and no one had stopped him.

"So," he began, "what's up?"

Harkness pulled out the book and held it up. "Do you have any more of these? The author mentioned that it was a series."

The way Ted beamed at him in that moment could've powered the whole Institute for a year. "I've got just about every book he ever wrote. Even most of the short stories."

"Right. May I--?"

"Absolutely. C'mon, I'll grab 'em for you." From there, Ted took him back down the hall, leaving him in the doorway of the bedroom this time as he headed for the heavily loaded bookshelf. Title after title was plucked out and set on the bed, piling up atop the frayed and patched sheets: standard paperbacks, hardcovers, trade paperbacks, compilations, novellas.

There was more than one author, too; apparently Ted had more suggestions. A lot more. But instead of dreading it, Harkness was _fascinated_.

"I set up a spare cot in the laundry room if you wanna stick around to read," Ted told him. "There's a coat rack in there too if you need to hang your coat up to dry."

He blinked. "You would let me do that?"

"Well, yeah." Ted shrugged kept piling on the books. There were so many! "I mean, I don't wanna lose any or let 'em get ruined. Do you know how long it took me to find all these?" Harkness watched as he finished pulling out books, settling onto the bed to stack a number of them into a very specific order. Once he was done, he gestured for Harkness to take them. "Top to bottom, go."

Harkness didn't spend the night in the main house again for four days after that.

 


	8. 8: upstart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M STILL GOING
> 
> but tomorrow I'll be (tentatively) without internet so I might not be able to post unless I can set up my phone to hotspot, so. Y'ALL HAVE FAIR WARNING.
> 
> Some important backstory here, particularly hidden in the things that go _unsaid_. Read between the lines of what the characters are saying and you might be able to spot some of it. Also, this chapter marks the point where I finally nailed down the timeline of what happened and how things all tie in with each other.

Clearing out a Corvega plant in Lexington led to clearing out ghouls, then raiders, then eventually more ghouls out towards Cambridge. It was getting close to the end of the day - with Ted riding high on the discovery that cars exploded, after his momentary worry about alpha particles and minor EMPs around Harkness had been dispelled by the fact that Harkness was smart enough to not stand near exploding cars - and they were considering heading back to Sunshine Tidings and stopping for the evening when Ted's pipboy picked up a new signal.

"Huh," he said, examining it as it beeped at him. "Alright, alright. Cut that out. Where's the--ahah!" Somehow, he'd found the right controls to alleviate the beeping. But this also turned on what sounded like a radio signal.

After several seconds of listening to it, the two of them exchanged a look. They couldn't go back just yet, could they?

Ted shut off the signal before it could loop again, barely containing his smirk at the prospect of more fun (even though the purpose of this trip was scavenging, not fun). "How do we get to the police station from here?"

In the end, Harkness decided that they could always send a team out to do the scavenging for them now that everything was cleared. If they had to. "Follow me," he said. And even though Ted waited 'til his back was turned to fist pump, Harkness knew that was probably what Ted was doing.

What was the harm? All the settlements were defended by Ted's turrets, manned by at least two Minutemen apiece. He knew at least two of the settlements had withstood attacks already. One had even been an attack by a pack of super mutants. They had more recruits by the day, and Sunshine Tidings had even been established as a trading post. Four and a half weeks into knowing Ted, and the Minutemen were actually capable of working as a unit without Harkness giving them direct orders-- at least, for a while.

For once, Harkness didn't feel so anxious about leaving them alone. He could actually afford to do something like answer a distress signal. He couldn't even conceive of it being a trap that was dangerous enough to threaten him. He felt... Safe.

Then they got to the police station, and Harkness saw an emblem he thought he'd never see again on a makeshift barricade erected in front of the building.

"The Brotherhood?"

Ted turned to blink at him. "What's the Brotherhood?" he asked, but Harkness had already taken off running.

Sure enough, there was a suit of power armor overwhelmed by clawing ghouls standing in front of the doors. Cursing and taking swings at them as often as he was shooting them with his laser rifle. Harkness didn't even have to think about it; he drew his pistol and started shooting, one-two-three-four. Easy. Only one wasn't a headshot, and it was due to the ghoul turning to attack Harkness at the last second. He got it in the throat instead as it lunged.

Ted caught up just in time to see the carnage, pulling a face. "Jesus, that was brutal. And you didn't even leave any for me!" He shoved the grenade he'd gotten out back into the pocket of his jumpsuit and started to lower his power fist - the latest spoils, courtesy of a raider at the Corvega plant - but was interrupted.

"Don't put your weapons away just yet," the power armored man instructed him. "There might be more on the way."

He blinked, then shrugged. "Well I mean, it's not like this thing fits in my pocket, so--"

"What's the Brotherhood of Steel doing this far north?" Harkness asked.

The suit of power armor turned to Harkness and peered at him closely. Then there was a noticable shift in body language, and the helmet came off, and-- "Chief Harkness?"

Harkness's facial recognition software took a split second longer than it should've to register what was in front of him. Then another as he self-corrected the details of how to address the man. "Danse," he said.

Danse - now a Paladin, by the decals on his armor - smiled broadly. It tugged at new scars that hadn't been there before. "Nevermind us. What are _you_ doing this far north?"

"Keeping busy." When Danse held out his hand, Harkness shook it firmly. "You've changed." He looked comfortable, Harkness realized. Content with himself. That hadn't been there before. Neither had the facial hair, for that matter. But then, Harkness had only briefly worked with the Railroad before he'd left DC behind for good, and ten years was a long time.

Ten years, a memory wipe, and a new set of power armor later, and Danse looked like a success story. Even though Harkness hadn't found out until after the fact, it was still a good thing to see.

But before he could catch up any further, a throat-clearing sound came from Ted, who was standing a couple of feet away and glancing between the two with a suspicious look on his face. "Ever gonna fill me in?"

Danse looked at Ted the same way most people look at radroaches. "I-- excuse me?"

"This is Ted," Harkness explained. "Vault dweller. Just came out of cryo a few weeks ago."

Ted offered a wide grin and extended his hand towards Danse. "Hi," he said.

Danse didn't take him up on the handshake. "We could use an extra hand like you on this, Harkness," the paladin said. "If you'll just follow me inside, I can brief you on the details."

As they headed into the police station, Harkness deliberately ignored the dirty look Ted was giving him.

\---

That evening, they ate in the company of the Brotherhood of Steel. Ted was immediately smitten with Scribe Haylen, and the two animatedly discussed whatever over a meal of tasteless military rations as the last of Danse's squad, Knight Rhys, watched in mild horror.

"--and when we tested it, you know what we found? _Strontium 90_."

Haylen gasped. "But that's a fission byproduct. Without immediate treatment to prevent it being absorbed, it's been proven to cause bone cancer because--"

"It's mistaken for calcium, yeah." Ted was grinning. "So I brought it to my boss, and we ended up getting a cease-and-desist from Nuka Cola. I'm not saying it's directly related to why I was fired, but it might've been a contributing factor."

"And you said you've found a way to weaponize it?"

"Yeah. All you need is a catalyst for the reaction. It turns it into a miniature dirty bomb. And I mean, if you're going for scorched earth..."

Harkness observed all of this with a small smile. He'd heard Ted talk about this before, and it was always a sight to see when the man was in his element. All sweeping hand gestures and animated expressions, always delighted to talk about his favorite subject to whoever might be interested in listening.

"You seem to be doing well for yourself," rumbled a voice from nearby; Harkness looked up, and there was Danse. Out of his power armor, coming over to ease himself down onto the broken couch. He had a bottle of clean water held in one broad, gloved hand, and a much smaller bottle of Rad-X in the other. He took a sip from the bottle, followed it with two pills, and handed both bottles to Harkness.

Not wanting to give himself away, Harkness took both with a nod and mirrored the motion himself. His system would just scrub it all anyway; ironically, radiation was more of a danger to him if he _didn't_ ingest the source, since his flesh was the part that wasn't insulated. "As well as I can," he replied. "You've heard of the Minutemen?"

"I have." Danse took the bottle of water back when Harkness offered it and put the cap securely back on. "Initial intelligence suggested they'd disbanded. A last line of defense against the Institute for years, and yet somehow their main base was reportedly taken out by a sea monster."

"A sea monster?"

"If you believe the rumors, yes." Danse obviously didn't believe the rumors. "Then the last pocket of resistance was taken out by glorified raiders down in Quincy, and they haven't been heard from since."

"Huh." Harkness leaned back and tried to ignore the twinge of anxiety that shot through his systems when the couch creaked, settling for subtly redistributing his weight instead of just getting up, and going back to just listening to Ted and Haylen talking; now Haylen was babbling about retrofitting improvements to the haptic interface in power armor gloves that were based on pre-war prototypes to the X01 armor.

Between the two of them, Danse was the next one to speak up. "Why did you leave?" he asked. "After Doctor Zimmer was assassinated, I mean."

"Felt wrong to stay," Harkness said. A practiced response, even if he hadn't had to use it in years. "Happened on my watch, after all. How can I say I'm qualified to protect people if someone gets shot right under my nose?"

Danse chuckled. "With all due respect, that sounds like bullshit to me."

Ah. That was... Also a possible reaction. Right. Harkness sighed. "You remember DeLoria?"

"The barber?" At that, Danse laughed. "Don't tell me he's involved."

"He broke into Zimmer's quarters. Brought me some... Suspect evidence, that the man had contracted slavers to work with him. I had a choice on who I should turn a blind eye towards: prosecute DeLoria for breaking and entering, and I discourage more honest people who would bring things forward in future against corrupt higher powers. Prosecute Zimmer, and I'm setting a standard for other prospective criminals like DeLoria who claim to have an excuse for illegal activity."

"So you prosecuted neither," Danse guessed.

"For the record, it's Butch that had the murder weapon in his possession, even though I didn't have enough proof to say he used it. Only plasma weapon on board, and it had a unique signature." Because it'd belonged to A3-21, and it was an Institute weapon. Completely unique. Harkness had given it to him after shooting the bastard. "Still, it wasn't exactly a lawful way to do things. So I left."

"I doubt any proof will be found at this point. The barber left not long after you did." Danse shook his head with a slight smile. "Not that it matters. As it turns out, Zimmer was with the Institute. Even without having contacted the slavers, he still deserved what he got in the end."

Damn right he did. "Always knew there was something wrong with that bastard," Harkness said; as much as he wanted to, he didn't dare give himself away by saying more.

\---

Sleeping bags weren't ideal sleeping conditions, particularly for Ted when compared to the bed he still had at home. But even though Harkness expected him to complain, he kind of... Didn't.

"You gonna be okay, big guy?" Ted asked him, setting his bag down before flopping down onto his spare Brotherhood-issued sleeping bag's front end to start unzipping it. "I know this isn't usually your thing, but..."

"I'll be fine," Harkness said. He'd set up his sleeping bag, but fully intended to do as little sleeping as possible. Or pretending to sleep. "Did you bring any books?"

Ted craned his neck to give Harkness one of his signature grins. "How'd you know?"

"We were going to be spending the night at Sunshine Tidings before this." Which wasn't where the majority of Ted's books were. Harkness held out a hand. "Tell me you brought a spare."

"Always do." A little bit of digging around in his duffle, and Ted pulled out a trio of books. "I've got Arthur C. Clarke, I've got Heinlein, and I've got Bradbury."

"Which Bradbury?"

" _Martian Chronicles_." Ted held up the book in question, and handed it over with a laugh when Harkness made a grabbing motion towards it. "You nerd."

"Says the man who was discussing the effects of ozone depletion an hour ago."

"Hey, it's a cool subject." Ted didn't open up either of his books to start reading them even when Harkness did so with the one he'd been handed, at least not right away. "Y'know, that one's got a poem in it?"

Harkness glanced over at him. "Okay?"

"S'called _There Will Come Soft Rains_. Really morbid shit. He wrote a story around it, and then there was a short film on top of that."

"What's this poem about?"

"End of the world. Life after mankind. Y'know, the usual cold war kinda thing."

Harkness closed the book to blink at its cover, keeping his forefinger tucked in between the pages where he'd already read a ways into it. "You read the weirdest shit."

"You read it too!"

"Only because you suggested it."

"Is that why you got so invested you threw a book at my head when it made you feel things?"

"That..." Harkness had to take a second to come up with a proper retort. "That was different. You didn't tell me Elijah would die."

"Uh-huh. Nerd."

"I--" Again with the 'nerd' thing. He'd already tried to counter it with Ted's own logic - that knowing things was nerdy - but it hadn't worked, so-- how was he even supposed to respond to that? It wasn't even an argument! "No comment."

Ted burst out laughing at that, and with nothing else to say to get him to stop being a shit or even get a sensible last word in, Harkness reluctantly gave up and went back to reading.

 


	9. 9: distorted thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK BITCHES
> 
> I've got a shit-ton written so expect the schedule to go back to, well, maybe not NORMAL but y'know. Something like that? Seriously I'm up to chapter 14 actually writing shit out. It's great. I pounded out two chapters yesterday and I have no idea how. 
> 
> The only problem with my current arrangement is that I'm using an upturned laundry basket as a chair... hm. Gonna have to fix that

"About this deep range transmitter," Ted was saying as he fought to keep up with Danse and Harkness on the way to their next destination, "It was for the space program, right? I mean, ArcJet."

"Yes." Danse was always curt when dealing with Ted.

"Okay cool. Did you know that the space program was a front for improving our intercontinental ballistic missiles?"

That got the paladin to pause, blinking in bewilderment. "Excuse me?"

"I'm serious! The same tech in the multi-stage rockets we used to get people into space and onto the moon are the ones we used to blow shit up! And we got it from Hitler, by the way."

"He does this," Harkness told Danse quietly.

"We did though. During World War II we knew that the Nazis were working on the a-bomb, which is why we rushed the Manhattan Project. But what we didn't know was that they were also working on missiles for those bombs, which the Allies confiscated after the war. Why do you think the space race was so heavily publicized, man? It was all a feel-good front for being the first one to be capable of blowing the other guy to hell."

Danse let out a thoughtful _huh_. "And you think the Mars Shot Program was an extension of this."

"Shit yeah. But there's a strategic reason for the mutual escalation. See, if your bombs are as bad as the other guy's, then nobody fires first. Apparently." Ted shrugged. "I mean, look how it turned out. There's literally no way of knowing who shot first, or whether the shooting was just a glitch in somebody's system that caused a panicked counter-shooting. Everyone wants to blame the other guy over themselves or their own fuck-ups." Then he added, "I'm pretty sure the end of the world is on us though."

"Why do you say that?"

"Simple. Travel time. We got about three minutes' worth of warning before that first bomb hit just south of Boston - and I know it was south of Boston because I saw the mushroom cloud, thank you - when we should've gotten closer to a half hour at least. The sirens didn't even go off until after TV broadcasts had been interrupted."

Harkness decided to speak up at that point. "Clocks were stopped earlier in DC than they are in the Commonwealth too," he said.

"See? They had time and they didn't say shit. That's what you do when you're covering your own ass. If it'd been them that shot first, we woulda heard about it right away. 'The Chinese are shooting at us! Head for the fucking hills, folks!' Instead it's 'we've got reports of detonations', like by the time they thought about giving the evacuation order it was way, _way_ too late."

Danse stared for several seconds at Ted, incredulous, before turning to Harkness. "Where did you find this guy?"

"Half-dead and trying his hand at unarmed scavenging in a feral and raider hotspot," Harkness replied.

Ted let out a melodramatic put-upon kind of sigh. "Love you too, big guy."

Harkness could only shake his head.

\---

ArcJet was a mess, both inside and out. The first thing Ted did was cough; the second thing was pulling a paper mask out of one of his jumpsuit pockets and wrapping it quickly around his face.

"Whaddya wanna bet there's asbestos in these walls," he grumbled. "Jesus."

Danse seemed to agree, because he put on his helmet soon afterward. "Look for a working elevator; what we're looking for should be on the top floor."

But there were no working elevators in the front lobby, so the only way they could really go was forward. And, once they encountered a hole in the floor, downward. Harkness recoiled inwardly when both Danse and Ted turned on their respective flashlights (one in his helmet, the other on his pip-boy); stealth would be impossible with these two around. Then again, stealth would've been impossible anyway with automated defenses.

They encountered their first turrets on the uppermost basement level, and the reflective surface did not agree with Danse's laser rifle. Nor did the turret's laser do anything to his power armor, at least not appreciably. From behind the cover of a wall, Ted rolled his eyes and shot a look at Harkness across the hall in a similar position as he pulled out a pulse grenade and held it in the hand not clad in a power fist.

Harkness took the hint immediately and darted out to grab Danse by the back of his power armor, yanking him bodily out of the way and ignoring the startled curse that followed. Not a second later, Ted pulled the pin and chucked the grenade down the hall.

The edges of it made his extremities tingle, but he wasn't hit directly. Only minor errors registered in his system, mostly in the sensors and nerves in the hand he'd used to pull Danse back from the blast. He ripped his hand away with a hiss, fingers twitching slightly with erroneous signals. He hated pulse grenades. They were useful, but he hated them.

"You okay?" Ted asked.

A quick diagnostic showed no lasting damage. "I'll be fine," he said. Then to Danse: "Let Ted and I handle the turrets from now on."

Danse, who was still staring at the spot where the pulse grenade had gone off down the hall, nodded slowly. "Understood."

They kept going.

\---

A room full of dead robots wasn't usually noteworthy, but the fact that the security up to that point had been functional certainly was. Even moreso when those dead robots had been destroyed by shock batons and high-powered laser fire.

Ted kneeled down to examine one of the wrecks with a frown. The laser aim had been precise, going for weak spots in between the metal of the Protectrons' casings. He used a pen to poke at a bit of melted rubber with a frown. "Fried the power supply," he said. "That one over there, they superheated the glass on its head with the first shot so it'd shatter, then took a second shot at the optical sensors. Whoever did this was good."

"Sounds like Institute synths," Danse guessed.

Harkness didn't say anything. It was Ted who spoke up. "Y'think so?"

"It's likely that they're after the same thing we are." The paladin snarled. "Damn it. We can't let them have that transmitter. Who knows what they might do with it."

Ted got a worried look about him, eyeing Harkness. "These burns are still hot. They're probably still here."

"Come on, then," Danse ordered, and stomped off down the next hall again.

As he went, Ted edged closer to Harkness until he could take hold of his shoulder and squeeze it. Harkness still wasn't moving. His mind was racing. "Hey," Ted mumbled. "You okay?"

"With something like that, the Institute could send their synths anywhere in the country," Harkness told him quietly. "Anywhere in the world. No one could run anymore."

"So we stop them before they can get it, and make it so that they can't do that." Ted smiled reassuringly. "See? Easy."

Harkness wasn't so sure. But he was caught up in the limitless possibilities of a device made for sending clear signals to _fucking Mars_ being in the hands of the Institute. How far things could snowball if they could go wherever they wanted. Retrieve whatever they needed. Even back when he'd been one of them, he'd known from the scientists and their fears that the Commonwealth had nearly been wrung dry. The things they could do with that kind of tech--

"Hey. Shhh." He sucked in a sharp breath as a hand touched his face. A familiar touch, rough with odd callouses as it always was. Ted was a man used to tools, not guns; creation, not destruction. "It's okay. Want me to go on ahead and handle this?"

There was only one honest answer Harkness could give as he thought about the older synths and their direct connections to the Institute, their precise sensors that could definitely detect that something was off about him if he fought them. They would see. They would _know_. And the Institute would hunt him again. "Yes."

"Okay then." A thumb brushed the edges of his scars, and then the touch receded. Patting his arm briefly in the course of its retreat. "Just wait for me in the lobby, alright?"

"Right," he said, and after that, Ted was gone.

Only a half hour later did he realize that he hadn't thought to question whether Ted was capable of it. And even then, he still didn't-- the only shock was in realizing how unquestioning he was of such a thing. Sitting on a partially collapsed bench seat, in that musty, dark lobby, it finally occurred to him that Ted made him feel safe. He couldn't even think of a possible scenario where Ted would turn on him. None of them were even remotely likely, statistically or otherwise.

Fuck. That was the danger, wasn't it?

 


	10. 10: tenderfeet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These boys do not like to follow my plot. Do you know how many revisions I've done? GDI Harkness you weren't supposed to freak out at facing synths. There was going to be a confrontation with Danse and everything.
> 
> (and we're back to the one-a-day schedule. you'd think I'd give myself a break, but no. I'M ON A ROLL WHY WOULD I TAKE A BREAK)

An hour and seventeen minutes after running off with Danse, Ted came back to the lobby-- but through the front door, not the portion of collapsed floor leading down to the basement.

"Told Danse you weren't feeling well," Ted informed him. "He said something about rust lung? So I just went ahead and agreed with him. Figured you'd know what that was."

"It was common in Rivet City. Side effect of living in an old aircraft carrier." And it didn't take much in the way of observation skills to see that Ted had used a length of old phone wire to tie up the armless upper half of a Gen 2 synth and hoist it over the same shoulder as his bag, with his face mask folded up and stuffed haphazardly into one of his pockets. "Why do you have that."

Ted shrugged. "Wanted to see how they work."

"How do you know it's not--"

"It's dead." His tone left no room for argument. "I ripped out what I'm pretty sure was its wireless card when Danse wasn't looking. Along with what looked like a GPS transmitter. And the power supply. And maybe its eyes." He walked up to where Harkness was sitting and swung the dead synth back over his shoulder to set it down heavily on a nearby seat. Wires were hanging out everywhere, their insulation torn in places; its jaw was dented and dislocated, it had no eyes, and there was a lot of skin missing.

It was more than a little uncomfortable to look at. "Again: why do you have it?"

Another shrug. "I wanna see how they tick. There's no way to know how complex it is without cracking it open and seeing how much space it has to run in. I tried to figure it out just by looking at the guts of it, but this isn't your typical RobCo-brand CPU or whatever. Everything's proprietary except for a few basic connections."

"They're not that complex."

"I'd like to know for sure how its programming works before I make that assumption." Then Ted smiled, that same soft look he got sometimes that Harkness still didn't quite know the meaning of. "I won't let it get me. Don't worry."

Harkness wanted to not worry. He really did. But he'd been worrying for over a half hour by then, and it was hard to break the feedback loop inside his head. "Did you get the transmitter?"

"Yep." Good. "Let Danse have it too. Then I told him we'd send someone from the Minutemen to pick up our stuff tomorrow from the police station."

"Why? We can go back."

Ted sighed. "I think we should head back to Sanctuary Hills. Or Sunshine Tidings, whichever."

What? Harkness stood from his seat, frowning. "Is everything alright? You're not hurt, are you?"

"It's not-- alright, lemme rephrase that. I'd rather not deal with Danse again unless I have to." By that point Ted wasn't making eye contact. Harkness couldn't say what the expression on his face was. Concern? Guilt? "I know he's your friend, but--"

"He's not. It's a long story." Something had happened between the two of them. "What happened?"

Ted bit his lip. "I. He said things. About cleansing the Commonwealth, and this being proof that the Brotherhood's needed here. I told him the Minutemen were doing just fine, but he didn't really agree with me. He even tried to recruit me. And you, through me. I said I'd think about it."

Just like that, Harkness was back to worrying again. "Are you going to think about it?"

"Fuck no. Harkness, he straight-up said to me that synths are abominations. He shit-talked technology left and right while wearing a suit of power armor like a complete douchebag. He argued with me over letting the Minutemen have this place for scrap because according to him, this kind of technology doesn't belong in the hands of untrained civilians." Ted looked like he was hurt by the mere suggestion that he could ever 'think about' that. "If he knew about you, he would've shot you."

"Most people would," Harkness noted.

"No, you dumbass, _most people_ wouldn't. Assholes would. And he's an asshole." By that point, Ted was deeply upset by the whole thing. Even in the dim light, his eyes were shining. "The fuck are you saying? _Most people_. How can you say that like it's okay?"

"They have a reason to be scared of me. Of any synth." It hurt, and it was based on a number of false assumptions, but it was a reason. "The Institute--"

"I don't give a shit what the Institute does. They have fuckall to do with this. It's about what's apparently a big enough goddamn problem that someone like you is willing to accept that getting shot is a necessary evil of _existing_." That intensity again. The fire in those eyes. "Harkness, it's not fucking okay."

There was no arguing with him. Even if there was, Harkness didn't want to. People didn't just defend synths like that. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, alright? Look, just--" Ted made a noise like a growl and hoisted the dead synth back over his shoulder. "You deserve better than to have to pretend not to be bothered by that shit. I know it's a survival thing, but that doesn't make it okay."

"Right."

"Okay. Good talk." All the air left Ted's lungs in a rush. He still glanced over to eye Harkness suspiciously every now and then, like he was expecting a sudden bout of self-loathing to happen behind his back, but he seemed to be calming down otherwise. "Let's go home."

He headed out, and Harkness quietly followed. And not a word was said about what _he'd_ been thinking about.

\---

They got back to Sanctuary around mid-afternoon, with the sun hanging lower in the sky and an autumn chill nipping at their skin. The first one to come and greet them was the dog, barking at the top of his lungs and charging at Ted.

With a laugh, Ted let the dog knock him over and slobber all over him. "Haha, puppy! Who's a good pupper-pup, you are! Yes you are, what a good pup. Yes, I love you too, yeeesss."

After several weeks of similar displays, Harkness was used to this. "I'm going to go update Preston."

"Oh, go ahead. I need a shower anyways." Then, back to the dog. "Did you miss me? I bet you did. Did you get those bad ol' raiders?" The dog huffed. "You did? Awww, lookit you! What a good guard dog, yeeesss. Kisses? Kisses! Ahahaha kisses! Help, I'm being attacked!" He was not, in fact, being attacked. "Ohhhh you're so fierce, haha."

Shaking his head, Harkness headed up the hill towards the main house. They'd fixed the street lights, but it was too early for them to come on yet; he was reminded of how much they'd done as he passed the cleared foundations where there'd once been ruined, collapsed buildings, the lights visible through replaced windows in the ones that were still standing. The windmill they'd built, towering over Ted's house with its fiberglass blades, moved gently with the breeze.

There were people in every house who would gladly come to his aid, turrets on the rooftops, and walls aplenty. None of it made him feel as safe as Ted did. Ted who was fragile, and small, and just one man. Ted who would stand up for him even against his own demons. Ted who was so devoted to his friends that he could be tricked, and hurt. Maybe killed.

Once Harkness started caring whether or not that happened, it became a no-win situation. He couldn't just turn that part of himself off. The safest thing for both of them would be for him to leave. He'd done it in the past. Could do it again if he had to. And maybe he would, if it was just Ted he was worried about, but it wasn't. He was responsible for so much more this time. People were counting on him. The whole Minutemen thing might've been easy enough for him - nothing short of the Institute could really scare him - but to other people it was a big deal. That mattered, didn't it?

He caught Preston in the carport of the main house, standing near the door with his hand on a courier's shoulder. "--and don't let anyone there tell you they can handle it themselves. We need to know what's going on and what we're dealing with up-front so we can take care of it before it becomes a bigger problem."

"Yessir," the courier said, nodding quickly. So quickly her hat almost fell off. She was thin and reedy, but even taller than Harkness, with most of her height being in her legs. Harkness wondered how young she was.

"Okay." Preston smiled encouragingly. "Remember: if it comes down to it, be safe, not fast."

She smiled right back with crooked teeth. "Will do, sir."

"Alright. Get going." Preston gave her a pat, and she was off; he smiled after her like he was proud. "We're up to two dozen recruits now," he said. "Oberland Station's doing pretty good. We got a tip about a boathouse not too far from there too."

Harkness had to think for a moment to figure out what he was talking about. There were a few boathouses. "Taffington?"

"That's the one." Preston folded his arms and leaned back against the doorway. "Still no word on Greygarden. The Slog says they're not interested, but they're open to trading with us."

"I can live with that." The Slog was a ghoul settlement. They had their reasons to be wary. "Ted and I cleared the raiders out of Lexington, including the Corvega plant. It's safe for salvage teams now."

"Damn. That's huge. Okay, I'll get someone out there first thing tomorrow." He peered at Harkness closely. "You okay? Lookin' kinda tired there."

"It's been a long day," Harkness replied. "Nothing you need to worry about. I'm fine."

"Right, so you're not telling me is what you're saying." Something in the way Harkness looked at him had him putting his hands up defensively. "Hey, I won't judge. You're the General. You're allowed to have secrets."

Harkness was still convinced he'd been bullied into taking that title. Preston had done the sad eyes thing again when he'd tried to turn it down. It hadn't been fair from the start. "It's not a secret, it--" He sighed, closing his eyes. "It's just complicated."

"Well, you do 'complicated' better than me."

"And if I tell you, then you'll try to help and it'll make it worse."

"Man, you're really not convincing me it's nothing I need to worry about here."

"I know." He wasn't sure if there was anything he could say that would. He'd already said too much. "Just don't tell Ted."

"Now I'm definitely worried," Preston mumbled. "But alright. I won't say anything."

\---

Days passed. They went to Greygarden and Ted fawned over the custom Handy models. They cleared out mutants from a pumping station and Ted went off on a tangent about megafauna and horseshoe crabs after he got his boot back from a baby mirelurk that had been gnawing on it. They went to set up turrets at a place called Hangman's Alley and as they were setting up the radio beacon with its looped message, Ted mentioned the library again in the context of wanting to look up how to put together dirtbikes for their couriers.

Harkness still caught himself smiling while listening to those tangents. The point of no return was long gone.

Then they came upon a fight between two groups of heavily customized robots. And while Ted leapt into the fray with his power fist, smashing dents into their metal with hydraulics-driven concrete, Harkness used his hunting rifle to go for the eyebots that hovered on the sidelines. Not Institute, but still a threat; he remembered the Enclave all too well.

When the fight was over, only one robot from the blue-painted faction was still standing: an assaultron, but one that was equipped with the wrong legs so that the usual loping gait was replaced by a sort of odd waddling motion. It was awkward at best, comical at worst. Harkness wondered what sort of damage could've prompted such an odd choice of replacement parts.

"I thank you, friends," it said. "You've saved my life."

Ted straightened up immediately and got that look on his face like he'd just been handed a copy of _Atlas Shrugged_ and a lighter. Although he did _try_ to contain his delight at a coherent talking robot coupled with a pile of parts. "Happy to help," he said. "Why were they attacking you?"

"They were servants of the Mechanist."

"Uh." He gave the modded assaultron an incredulous frown. "Like the comics?"

"I believe my friends may have said something to that effect. In any case, the Mechanist labors under the impression that robots in any hands but their own are a danger to society."

"So, like the comics." Ted was practically vibrating with excitement, stealing a glance at Harkness that was not at all subtle. "You know. I bet we could help with that."

Harkness frowned at him. "Ted, no."

"I mean, terrorizing people who just wanna live in peace with their robots is just rude, right?"

A note of hope filtered into the assaultron's tinny, synthesized voice. "Would you? I have little to offer you... Perhaps a schematic for a workbench you could use to build and modify robots--"

"Sold! We're doing this." Ted clapped his hands, rubbing them together gleefully. "Harkness. We're helping this woman."

"It's an assaultron," Harkness said flatly.

"She needs our help and we're helping her. We're Minutemen. Ours is not to ask why."

"Greygarden was useful. This--"

"--is also useful! We could have a robot army, Harkness. A robot in every settlement! Guarding every caravan!"

Harkness let out an irritated sigh. Ted was right. It was annoying, but he was right. "Fine," he said. "But it's all on you if making an enemy of this Mechanist character bites us in the ass."

"It won't," Ted assured him.

And goddamn it, coming from him, Harkness believed it.

 


	11. 11: impermanence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
> 
> yep i'm doing That Quest

It was only when Ted was busy and unavailable to come on scavenging and scouting runs that Harkness realized how much he'd gotten used to having the man around. Preston, Marcy, Lucy, and even the dog all did the job well enough, but it was a lonely few days without the usual chatter. And that wasn't even getting into how much he missed not having to shout orders in combat situations.

And what did Ted have to show for it after four days of work? A workbench taking up half of his front room and a robot that looked like a vibrator.

"His name's Speedy," Ted told everyone proudly, giving the thing a pat. He'd painted it bright pink, and it was essentially a Protectron head stuck on a Handy thruster. It had two arms and it beeped. The arms were equipped with flamethrowers.

Marcy snorted once before doubling over in a laughing fit. Preston had turned an odd burgundy color and Sturges was hiding his expression behind his hand. Jun was looking at the thing like it might eat him while Lucy's eyes had gone wide as saucers.

"I'm not saying what that looks like," Preston said.

Ted grinned at him. "Glad to see some things have survived the apocalypse."

"I think my mom had something like that in her dresser..." Lucy mumbled. Marcy was still laughing.

It was up to Harkness to be sensible. "Ted, why did you build a dildo with arms."

"Why _wouldn't_ I build a dildo with arms?" At this, Sturges snorted and murmured _got a point there_ , and Preston made a noise and elbowed him. "Besides, it'll do the job just fine, right?"

"No one is disputing the practical aspects of the robot, Ted. Just the aesthetic ones."

Ted rolled his eyes and groaned with an exaggerated slump of his shoulders. "Ugh, fine. My next robot will look like an actual robot. Christ, you're such a buzzkill."

Another two days passed where Harkness barely saw Ted; anytime he went in to see what the hell was going on he was chased out by Codsworth and told that Master Ted was not accepting visitors for the time being. He tried going out again, this time with the modded Assaultron, and got so annoyed with the clanking, unsubtle junk-bot that the trip only lasted two hours. A report came in the next day that said Speedy was doing an excellent job protecting supply lines, with three requests coming in for more robots at three seperate locations.

The second robot came off of the workbench looking like a dismantled washing machine with electrified chainsaws for arms, Protectron legs, and the comically tiny head of a Sentry Bot to top it off. It was bright orange, and Ted named it Mister Stubbs. It actually had a voice this time, but Ted had gotten the voicebank phoneme samples from the dog.

"I think I know why General Atomics fired you," Harkness told him blandly, and the little shit just laughed. The robot barked and panted at them.

After two more days and a robot named Shouty Laser Heck (which was equipped with Robobrain treads, an Assaultron laser head, and a voicebox that consisted of _nothing but screaming_ ), Harkness made the executive decision to give control of the workbench to Sturges and drag Ted back out with him to go look for parts.

Because yes, Ted was fucking brilliant. By that point no one would dispute that. But he also had the impulse control of a five year old on Mentats, and giving him creative control over anything was a terrible idea. Even if Ted thought it was an excellent idea. Actually, if Ted thought one of his creative ideas was excellent, then it was probably terrible by default.

"Aww, you missed me that much?" Ted teased.

Harkness didn't bother with confirmation or a denial. "You clearly need adult supervision."

"Uh-huh, sure." Ducking back down the hall into his room didn't stop Ted from talking. "So, which books should I bring?"

Good question. "You mentioned books about ships?"

"Sure did." Ted poked his head out to grin. "I'll bring the whole set, how's that?"

It was like something that had been knocked loose was settling into place; just like that, the irritation was fading, and taking the low-level anxiety Harkness had been running with along with it. Shit, he really was in deep. "Sounds good," he said. "Bring a coat. Mama Murphy thinks it could snow soon."

"Huh. Time to pull out the wool socks, I guess." Ted retreated back into his room. "I know an appliance place we could probably hit up for space heaters."

"Preston mentioned something about a vault that's opened up for trade--"

"So we do both. This'll be enough books to last us a few days."

God, Harkness had missed travelling with him.

\---

Vault 81 wasn't far from Oberland Station, so they went ahead and checked on the defenses there before they left. Word from the settlers was that they'd seen raiders running around with robots, and Ted rolled his eyes and said that whoever this Mechanist was, letting his robots get cannibalized by a bunch of "hooting dickholes" was an amateur mistake; any true robot overlord would have programmed in a self-destruct in the event of capture.

"And what does that make you?" Harkness asked him.

"Well, a better fucking programmer for one thing," was the reply, and Harkness had to smile. "But seriously, mine go into a kind of inert safe mode if they get orders from someone who doesn't have the right code phrase, which makes them just alive enough to detect if someone's cracking the case open and be able to trigger a core meltdown when they do. And if anyone who isn't me or Sturges goes into their code to fix it, it'll melt the CPU and reformat the hard drives after two bad login attempts."

So even if the Institute did get over their disdain for lesser robots, it wouldn't do them a lot of good. "You've thought about this a lot, haven't you."

Ted snorted. "Yeah, you love my paranoia and you know it."

Guilty as charged. Harkness loved a lot of things about Ted.

Once they'd confirmed the perimeter was secure, they headed out to the vault. Clouds were starting to form in the sky, and Ted had to pull on a pair of gloves once the chill got to the point where the pockets of his heavily worn bomber jacket weren't quite doing enough to keep his hands warm. He was still wearing the vault suit, but Harkness knew he was wearing leggings and at least two shirts underneath it also. Ted was not one to play at bravado when it came to the cold, even if it meant he came out of it looking like a puff of white cotton sticking out of an amorphous blob of mismatched clothing.

"Wonder how much snow we'll get," he said as they climbed the hill leading up to the entrance. A number of small shacks were set up outside, but Ted only gave the insides of them brief glances before deciding they didn't have anything he felt like looting. "Hey big guy, what's the temperature right now?"

"Thirty-one degrees fahrenheit," Harkness replied.

"Oh great. Perfect temperature for slush and freezing rain. Just what I wanted." The entrance to the cave was in sight, and Ted eyed it with a melancholic sort of non-expression. "At least we won't get snowed in. Probably."

"Probably." Harkness didn't even pause on his way to the door. "Shall we? It'll be warm in the vault."

Ted sighed. "True," he admitted. "Alright. Let's head in."

\---

Everyone in the vault was either soft or thin. Even the Overseer. The price for entering and doing business was a handful of fusion cores, and since Ted usually had about a dozen on him at once at any given time in case he found a suit of power armor, they were allowed right in.

"Wow, this place is downright shiny," he said, a little awed. "Haven't seen a place this clean since, y'know, before." He was already peeling his outer layers off, jamming his gloves into his jacket pockets and tying the jacket around his waist.

The Overseer stood up just a bit straighter at that. "We work hard to keep it that way," she told him proudly. "Go ahead and have a look around if you like. As long as you don't cause any trouble, we're happy to have you here. You can get a check-up at the clinic, have a bite to eat. Even get a haircut if you want."

"Haircut? Really? Where?"

She smiled and pointed down the hall past the decontamination arches, and Ted was off like a rocket. Then she was all business when she turned to Harkness, with the air of one authority figure speaking to another.

It reminded him of Madison Li. "The Minutemen would be happy to protect your trade routes if you need it, ma'am," he said.

"Thank God." So she did need help. He'd thought so when she'd made them barter with fusion cores to get in. "We heard about what happened in Quincy. It's been hell trying to get supplies from the outside without you boys keeping the peace, and our security just isn't equipped to handle that kind of thing. I'm afraid we don't have much to offer you in return at the moment, but--"

"We don't need much. Clean water, a hot meal, a safe place to put our feet up if we need to." Another settlement on the list. "And if any of your people ever want a chance to see the outside, we don't lack for employment opportunities."

"Just don't steal too many good people out of my security force with your promises of grandeur."

"I won't." He wasn't one to promise grandeur to begin with. "Now if you'll excuse me, I should probably go find my partner."

"You say that like he needs supervision."

"He does," Harkness conceded, and headed off to go find Ted.

(Naturally, he found the little shit _not_ getting a haircut, but instead giving graphic descriptions of severe radiation exposure and meltdown cleanup procedures to a classroom full of schoolchildren, complete with chalkboard drawings of something called an "elephant's foot". Because this was Ted, and he was incapable of being normal.)

 


	12. 12: please support me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> initially I intended to go back and edit this to put Proper Names Of People in but then all my effort went into rewriting chapter 13 about five times. both 13 and 14 are finished. i've lost a little steam though. HOWEVER. I will still post 13 and 14 at the same rate as all the other chapters I've posted because I don't like leaving it on a cliffhanger for long, and 14 wraps up this particular arc of the plot nicely and allows me to transition into the castle arc. in which I don't know what will happen. at all. will they finally kiss? I hope so. boys please.
> 
> I have done SO much research in making up a fake virus you guys. the way the ingame thing was handled bugged the shit out of me. I basically rewrote the circumstances of the quest in a lot of ways. essentially I changed it from "cure-all" (which is utter nonsense) to "very specific cure and vaccine to a very specific labgrown disease that is meant as a crippling bioweapon". a lot of it is made the fuck up, but a lot of it is also based on what I researched.

From his little detour into the classroom, Ted managed to make a new friend: Austin, a vault kid who couldn't be more than eleven years old. And if he was eleven, it was a runty eleven. Austin loved the way Ted described things, how it was both graphic and informative. Apparently cool science and gross injuries made for excellent bedfellows in the mind of a kid. Harkness wouldn't know; he'd never been one. His best guesses at what it might be like came from false human "memories" that were irritatingly vague.

What he did know was that this kid had latched tightly onto Ted, and that Ted was loving every minute of it.

"See, on the surface, the average background radiation's actually gone up more than you'd think," Ted was saying. "It's not just the bombs, or the ensuing meltdowns when reactors went critical - I mean, part of it is, but not all of it - but instead it's that parts of the atmosphere that protected us from the sun got burned away during the war. So now, if you're on the surface, you get more radiation from the sun than you did back then. It's almost as much as what astronauts would get exposed to up in space."

"Does that mean everyone on the surface has skin cancer?"

"Not exactly. Ionizing radiation doesn't instantly give you cancer, it just increases the chances drastically by messing with your DNA on a molecular level. People who do things like take Rad-X are making it so that their cells are more likely to spot the chromosomal errors and toss them out, meaning the bits that would cause cancer by being a little screwy would be more likely to be ignored. Which is why you see a lot more mutated, radiation-sick animals and plants than people." Ted grinned. "But it still happens. I mean, hey, look at me. I'm a mutant."

Austin's eyes went wide. "You're a _mutant?_ That's so cool! Do you have like, a third eye or a second butthole or something?"

Ted laughed. "Nope. I've got something called albinism. Both my parents had black hair, and my mom had darker skin like your friend does, but me? Nope. And my son turned out the same way."

"Whoa."

"I _know_ , right?" Ted clapped his hands. "So! Where's your reactor room? I wanna see this thing for myself."

That gave Harkness pause. "I don't think Austin can tell you much about the vault's reactor."

"No, but whoever's on duty can. Hell, the reactor itself can too. Anything that can power a vault this big's gotta be worth something to the Minutemen, right?"

"Can I be one of the Minutemen?" Austin asked.

Ted bubbled up with another laugh. "Once you're older, sure. Why not."

"Awesome!" Austin turned around and cupped his hands over his mouth so the whole atrium could hear. "You hear that, everybody? I get to be one of the Minutemen!"

An old lady piped up from what looked like a cafeteria counter. "That's wonderful, Austin dear. Would you like a sweet roll?"

The kid darted over to get his sweet roll and came back with a mouthful of it. "M'gonna--" here, he swallowed his bite and paused just long enough in horfing the thing down to finish his sentence, "--gonna kill so many deathclaws."

Harkness quietly made a note of having to ask potential recruits their age as Ted chuckled and ruffled the kid's hair.

\---

It was mid-afternoon by the time they were winding down their explorations of the vault. Ted had interrogated the poor junkie on duty tending to the reactor and come out of it with a handwritten list of key components, while Harkness had been given offers for anything from fertilizer to tools. He'd even been asked if he could find a lost cat.

"The hell am I gonna get this much uranium from," he caught Ted muttering. "And the coolant situation-- Jesus, Vault-Tec, what the shit."

"Problem?" Harkness had to ask.

"What I wouldn't give to have your brain, Harkness," Ted said with a sigh. They were standing in the cave just outside the vault entrance, so it was relatively private. "With a supercomputer like the one that's gotta be in your head, I'd say to hell with this, drop into some kinda power-saver mode, and dedicate like 99% of my CPU capacity to just... I dunno, figure out how to make a thorium-cobalt reactor, maybe."

Hah. "Even I can't do that." And even if he could, he wouldn't know where to start, whereas Ted did.

"I know." Ted folded up the paper and put it into a pocket of his coat, checking his pip-boy. "I did the math, y'know. Even conservative estimates on how much you're having to process at any given moment just based on how much sensory data you must be getting _alone_ are in the hundreds of terabytes range."

"Goes over a petabyte if I'm having a flashback." His memory was perfect. All the data preserved just as it has been recorded. Vivid and real, whether it was a good memory or a bad one. Ted had called it a flashback; Harkness supposed that fit. It was like being there, all over again.

Ted sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Christ. No wonder you lock up so bad." Back to chewing on his lip, the usual nervous habit. The air was dry enough that it'd probably end up bloody this time. "And you can't turn it off, can you?"

"No. I'm not my own system admin. I can do basic maintenance, diagnostics." But Harkness understood why. The Institute probably didn't want their synths shutting themselves off, ruining their own code, formatting their own drives. Like Ted's robots would if they were stolen. "It's not too different from how humans work. If you think about it, a human is just a brain driving around in a suit of meat and bones."

"So you're saying you're okay with it."

"Mostly. If you had asked me ten, eleven years ago, I wouldn't have been."

Ted hummed thoughtfully. "What changed?"

A lot. "I met someone," he said. "Someone who gave me so much shit for being such a robot all the time that I caved. Started making an effort to become more human." Ironic, considering it was the same person who'd given him the recall code in the first place. "Figured out later that he was just projecting. After a while he got fed up with me acting 'weird'. Gave me even more shit than before, told me I was trying too hard."

"Sounds unhealthy."

"It was. We both were." Looking back, the whole thing had been more trouble than it was worth in a lot of ways. "But I did find out that people who _weren't_ him liked it when I acted less like a machine." So that, he'd decided to keep doing. Acting human. In the long run, it was just easier that way.

A few seconds passed. Harkness couldn't tell whether the silence was comfortable or uncomfortable. When Ted finally said something, he sounded nervous. "Y'know," he began, "I don't mind. It's okay if you just wanna relax around me."

Harkness felt himself smile. He already knew that. "We should get going," he said. "Split up, meet back here. I'll find the cat." Since Ted was allergic.

Ted let out a shaky breath. "Alright. Yeah. I'll get the, uh, the everything else." He started putting his gloves back on. "What was everything else again?"

"Fertilizer, any tools you can spare, incandescent bulbs, and seeds if you can get them."

"Got it." For a second it looked like Ted wanted to say something else, but he didn't. He just gave an awkward wave and left in the direction of Oberland, dressed back up in his amorphous blob of winter clothes and leaving footprints in the thin film of snow that clung to the ground.

Harkness wasn't even sure where to begin asking what Ted's hesitance was about, so he decided not to bother.

\---

Powdery snow was falling in earnest by the time Harkness got back with an angry cat wrapped in his overcoat like a hissing, miserable burrito. The cat had succeeded in leaving a stripe across his nose, but thankfully that was all it had managed to do before he'd caught it in his coat. By the looks of things, the animal was already suffering from some minor hypothermia, so he took it back to the vault as quickly as he could manage.

The first thing he registered as wrong was that security didn't even stop him on the way to the elevator. Even if he was a familiar face, they really shouldn't have been that lazy. Everyone had to at least identify themselves and give a reason for their visit, didn't they? What kind of vault was this?

He took the elevator down and headed straight for the general store where the girl's parents worked with the cat in hand. When he got there, the mother was pacing the length of the store, the father was looking at anything _but_ his wife while leaned against a wall, and the girl perked up immediately and bounced up from her spot on the floor.

"Ashes! You found him!" The cat yowled pitifully as its owner took hold of it and proceeded to give it a fierce hug. "Oh no, you're freezing! Oh you poor baby..."

Harkness was not remotely sympathetic towards the cat's woeful, cuddle-plagued situation. "He'll probably need a bath. I found him in a dumpster."

The girl gasped and held the cat at elbow-length away from herself to frown sternly at it. "Ashes, that's gross! Bad kitty." Then she gave him a sniff and recoiled. "Eugh, you smell _awful_."

"You're welcome," he said. She looked up to smile at him and reached out to shake his hand.

But before she could, her mother spoke up. "Thank you for bringing Ashes home, wastelander. Now leave."

Harkness turned to her and blinked. "Is there a problem?"

"You heard me. You and your friend have caused enough trouble as it is."

Her husband winced. "Honey, don't--"

"Don't you 'honey' me. Those two outsiders went and put ideas into Austin's head, and now he's sick." She whipped around to glare at Harkness. "I don't want you or your friend to come anywhere near my daughter ever again, is that clear?"

"What's wrong with Austin?" Harkness asked.

The girl spoke up. "He's sick," she said. "He got bit by a mole rat and no one knows how to fix it."

Harkness didn't know how either. But unlike the people in this vault, apparently, at least he'd dealt with crisis situations before. "I'll go talk to the Overseer," he said. "If there's anything I can do, I'll get it done."

If nothing else, he couldn't get sick. That had to count for something.

 


	13. interlude: i promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS HAS BEEN THE MOST RESEARCHED CHAPTER. It has undergone like eight edits. I hope it's coherent. In the process of posting, I edited it again twice. Welp.
> 
> In which no doctor in the wasteland (even in a vault where he probably learned through apprenticeship) is going to have more knowledge than the dude who had two pre-war inner city doctors as parents and was basically always undergoing treatment for SOMETHING. Guy's probably forgotten more than this poor doctor ever knew. And the vault doctor is probably one of the better doctors out there! THERE'S SOME REAL QUACKS OUT THERE Y'ALL.
> 
> I weep for the wastes sometimes. Curie's probably going to increase the average lifespan of a Commonwealth civilian by about five years ON HER OWN. eesh.

It was balls-shrivellingly cold out by the time Ted got back to the vault with everything he'd been tasked with collecting, with the snow and the twilight combining to make it dark enough that he had to turn on his flashlight just to be absolutely sure of his footing. One never could tell, in cold weather, and it was always better to be safe than sorry if there was a possibility of black ice sneaking up on whichever poor bastard had the misfortune to stumble across it.

Besides, surviving all those years just to die from cracking his skull open on a rock after slipping on an ice patch? No thanks. He really didn't want a dumbass death like that etched onto his tombstone. That and Harkness would cry. Guy was a big ol' softie. Concrete coating around a sweet, gooey center of like, marshmallow or something.

So he got back into the vault, got through the door. Said 'hi' to security. They didn't say 'hi' back. That was normal though, Ted could dig it. He didn't tend to get the time of day from security as a whole, figured he must give off some kind of I'm Going To Steal Everything That Isn't Nailed Down And Graffiti Everything That Is vibe. So he just kinda headed right on through and down to the elevator like it wasn't a big deal, because it wasn't.

Except it was. Because everyone in the atrium looked like someone had fucking _died_. And they gave him a wide berth, too. Like, extra-wide. Moreso than people usually did, even moreso than people in a vault might normally wanna do. And, well, that freaked him out a bit.

Also? Harkness wasn't anywhere to be seen. Which freaked him out more than a bit.

Ted gave it about a second's worth of thought before he set his bag down by the food lady's counter (nice lady, couldn't remember her name, he was shit with names sometimes) and went to go find the Overseer, tying his coat around his waist and shoving his gloves into his pockets as he went. She'd know what was going on. And if she didn't, she was a shit Overseer.

He found her outside the clinic, arguing with the doctor in hushed tones. That guy. Ted really didn't like that guy. Again, couldn't remember his name. "Where's Harkness?"

Both the Overseer and the doctor looked at Ted like he'd grown a second head. Hell, the doctor looked almost offended. "He's gone," the Overseer said. "Went to look for something to help Austin."

"What's wrong with Austin?" Ted asked immediately.

"Austin is very sick--" the doctor tried to say, but Ted cut him off with a glare and the universal gesture for _zip it_.

"I asked what's wrong with him." This wasn't something Ted wanted an argument on. "Use your grown-up words and tell me what you know."

The two authority figures shared a Meaningful Look before the doctor hesitantly gave his reply. "He was bitten by a mole rat. His white cell count skyrocketed within an hour of being infected. Whatever this is, it isn't responding to any known methods of treatment."

"You tried antibiotics," Ted guessed.

"Several kinds. Along with antivirals." Though antivirals were kind of a long shot anyway.

"What are the symptoms?"

"At first it was just a dry cough. Then there was a high fever, dizziness, a drop in blood pressure, nausea, iron deficiency anemia, chest pain, wheezing, and severe lower respiratory congestion."

"You're treating all this as it progresses, I hope. Dextromethorphan, pseudoephedrine, guaifenesin--"

"Only keeps some of the symptoms at bay, and only to a certain extent. The fluid build-up is outpacing what expectorants can do to mitigate it, and his age limits what doses we can administer safely. Right now it's all we can do just to keep him breathing."

"So it's working like a really rapid-onset pneumonia, but with a high white cell count." That left a handful of possibilities. "Guessing it's not TB."

"It's not. Nor could we find signs of any other viral, bacterial, fungal, or parasitic infection on record. And it's not cancer from some virulent cousin of HPV either; we did a biopsy on both him and the mole rat in question, and we didn't find a damn thing."

God, really? On a kid that young? Lung biopsies were shit to begin with. The scarring! "Alright then." Ted marched right on over to the clinic door and slapped the button to open it up, rolling his sleeves up as he went. "Noticed you haven't tried corticosteroids."

The doctor was horrified. "On a _child?_ "

It was very tempting to tell the bastard that _he'd_ been the one to do a biopsy. "You got a better idea, buddy?"

"I--"

"Didn't think so." And maybe Ted didn't remember the doctor's name, but he sure remembered the assistant's. "Rachel! Change of plans, I think I know what this is." For right now, he had a hunch. And he doubted that this tiny vault clinic had ever seen a case of an immune system attacking itself.

But Ted's parents had both worked as on-call specialists at the biggest hospital in the third biggest city in the country, and he'd seen some shit.

\---

Rachel was lovely. She gave Ted facts, not suppositions. Her facts confirmed his hunch; the specifics of the elevated white cell count confirmed that there was an alarmingly high number of eosinophils, a second look at the biopsy results showed their dramatically increased presence there as well, and a CT scan gave him confirmation of exactly how the fluid in the lungs was progressing. Medical history indicated no predisposition towards these things in his family, not even so much as a peanut allergy or asthma anywhere to be seen.

Austin's body was literally reacting to nothing while the virus hid in his circulatory system like a dipshit schoolkid that had just woken up a sleeping bear. They'd found the thing in his blood, but it had nicked some local proteins to make itself look like vaguely like a native antigen.

It was a nasty bug, Ted would give it that; triggering the immune system randomly with a false flag while avoiding your standard batch of symptoms entirely was a great way to avoid detection, and it would probably work differently for everyone who ever came into contact with it. Since the presentation would be different every time, it made it hard to pin down, and harder to treat. If they hadn't known it had started with a bite, they might not even know it was an infection. Usually these things had no known cause.

Honestly, it smacked of something made in a lab, which matched up with what Rachel had heard: that Vault-Tec _had_ put a secret lab down there in the sublevels. And, seriously, Vault-Tec? He'd known they were fucked up from the moment he'd been put on ice, sure. But this? Really? This was weapons-grade shit.

Ted could see it play out in his head: every last infected person would walk away with a different variety of, say, acute eosinophilic pneumonia, or Crohn's, or rheumatoid arthritis, or lupus, or any number of vastly different diseases that were all fronts for the same thing. Made worse by how autoimmune problems had the weirdest fucking presentation sometimes; once Ted had met a woman in a waiting room whose immune system responded to strep throat antibodies by causing what looked like severe OCD along with a handful of other neurological symptoms. And another time, a trans guy had come into his dad's office after years of inexplicable bouts of anaphylactic shock that turned out to be a reaction to his own body's progesterone.

Once an aerosol dispersant was figured out though, it would've become a real nightmare. Something like that could not only cripple an enemy's footsoldiers in about a million different, equally miserable ways, it could also give them one hell of a hospital bill to deal with. It'd make for some seriously scary mind games too, making the already shaky situation of disabled people who have to prove they're not contagious all the time that much worse. Shit, give it to the police and they could've done a fuckton more damage at the rationing riots.

"For now, we can't kill what's causing his immune system to pitch a fit," he said, "but we can fix the congestion and get the immune system itself to sit down and shut up for a while."

"He'll have to be tapered off of this," Rachel reminded him as she filled a syringe. "And that's if he can shake whatever's causing his symptoms. If it really is triggering random immune responses, then it might come back and cause his immune system to attack something new if left untreated."

"Yeah, I know. Trust me, I wouldn't suggest this if I had another idea. Right now we just need him to not die." The doctor had been locked out of the room on moral grounds; morally, it would be wrong to break his jaw. The man had probably never been in a fight in his life, and it wouldn't be very sporting of Ted to goad him into one. "I checked with his grandmother though, and she signed off on it."

What worried Ted were the long-term implications even _if_ Austin bucked the initial disease. Sometimes it'd turn out that once a thing like this was initially triggered, the immune system was never quite _right_ again afterward. Other autoimmune problems could crop up, or the same one could happen again, and they'd necessitate the same sort of ugly, hamfisted treatment. More targeted treatments did exist, but a lot of them would be hard to get ahold of post-war, and even then, they were the kind of thing that had side effects like "if you get the flu you might die" and such.

(They'd sure been expensive enough to try and get pre-war. Christ.)

Then the door to the clinic opened again, the sound startling Ted out of his thoughts.

"Hey."

He turned, and stared, and there was Harkness. Bleeding from what looked like a gash on his lower left leg, his trousers and sock both ripped. Behind him, miracle of miracles, was a Miss Nanny 'bot, gleaming pearly-white and blinking with her three beady robot eyes.

"Got the cure," Harkness said. "Here's hoping it works."

Rachel set down her prepared syringe immediately and dashed right over to get the new one from Harkness's hands; he leaned heavily against the doorway and let out an exhausted sigh.

He looked like shit. "Before you say anything: I know I went without you. I'm sorry. But I didn't want you to--"

Ted interrupted him with a snorting laugh. Couldn't help it. And he looked so indignant after! Oh, Harkness. "Hah! Seriously, man. The hell are you apologizing for?"

"I--" Harkness did that thing where he averted his eyes and pouted and it was _adorable_ , except, wait. He really did look kinda terrible. "I don't know. I just thought you might-- nevermind."

"You did what needed doing, now get in here so I can get a look at that leg." Ted craned his neck to give the (proper) robot a grin and gesture her inside. "You too, sweetheart. What's your name?"

The robot bounced, and her arms rattled with the motion. Good God she needed maintenance. Where had she been, anyways? Ted hadn't seen her at all before. "Oh! My name is Curie. It is a pleasure to meet you, monsieur."

"Nice. Mind helping out in here for a bit?" Wait, Harkness hadn't really moved. He was just kind of leaned against the doorframe. "Uh. Harkness?"

Harkness exhaled through his nose. "Yeah?"

"Gotta move so that Curie can get in."

"Right. Sorry." So the big guy took a step. And another. Then, he fell.

Two humans and a robot were there in about a half-second to catch him and get him back to his feet. It took both humans and the robot just to hold his weight. He was warm to the touch, Ted realized-- too warm. Even through his clothes, Ted could feel it. "God, you're burning up."

Harkness grit his teeth. "I don't get sick," he said. He was shaking, but there was no cough, no wheeze. Different presentation. He'd been right after all.

Ted laughed again, but this time it was nervous. "Healthy people always say that, big guy." With the help of Rachel and Curie, he got Harkness to a bed. Just a few beds down from Austin, who had been given a dose of whatever the cure was. Antibodies to whatever was killing him? If Ted had known that, he would never have suggested the immunosuppressants. Shit! It was a damn good thing that she hadn't given him that initial dose of steroids yet. Ted's haste could've ruined everything.

(But without a miracle-cure made in the same place as the disease, it could've been the only viable choice. Was the only viable choice anyone had ever agreed on for the thing this disease had presented as. Or was it just the thing he'd leapt to because he'd seen it before? Shit, who could even say.)

"Rachel, tell everyone that Austin's probably gonna be okay, but that Harkness got infected too and we're working on it. Until then, they need to stay the fuck out. It's got a different presentation this time." They couldn't be let in on it this time. Not for Harkness. His safety was too important; no one could know what he was. "It could be a different strain." It wasn't.

She hesitated. "But what about you?"

"I've had worse," he told her, and she looked dubious. "Just go."

A sudden, tight grip on his arm turned his attention away from her. Harkness was holding onto him without so much as a thought given to grip strength (but by his standards, he was as weak as a kitten), looking at him with furrowed brows and a pained expression. Up until that point, Ted had never seen the man sweat. "Ted," he breathed. "I-- I don't..."

"Shhh. I know." Harkness was trying to say something, but locking up in the process. Probably overheated, definitely overwhelmed. Ted could see that much, at least. "Just relax, okay? I'll fix it. Promise."

Under the circumstances, it shouldn't have been surprising that Harkness reacted to this by letting out a long, unsteady breath and leaning forward to rest his (hot, way too hot) forehead against Ted's shoulder, but it still was. "Hurts."

"Yeah, that happens." Ted patted his head with a latex-gloved hand (and god, did his hands itch). Then he waited until he heard Rachel leave the room, and said, "Curie? When was your last medical database and software update from General Atomics?"

"October 8th, 2077," she chirped.

All the knowledge of all the best doctors in the world up to and including that point. Awesome. "Good. Get over here and help me fix this dumbass."

\---

So, here was the gist of it from what little Ted could gather from Harkness (who was even more monosyllabic than usual) along with what he and Curie were able to deduce: Harkness did, in fact, have the lab-cooked superbug. Curie found it in his bloodstream. But there was a lot less of it than there should've been, according to her. A trace amount. On top of that, according to her, his white cell count was only a tiny bit over what could be considered normal levels overall, and just a slight elevation in certain specific markers that usually wouldn't indicate anything.

And yet he had a rash around his joints, was running a fever of 104.3 with no signs of it going anywhere but upwards, and he was in some very serious amounts of pain. Curie said it looked like dermatomyositis on the surface, and after giving it a little thought, Ted had to agree. But without the usual blood and tissue markers? He'd never seen anything quite like it.

Then it hit Ted like a slap in the face: Harkness had said he _didn't get sick_. As in, at all. Like it was physically impossible, and the fact that it was happening was baffling to him.

It came back to Shaun, didn't it? If one had to find a way around the cloned meaty bits catching anything that could kill them, but the baseline immune system was fucked? Well, the quickest solution was simple: make mechanical bits that make the immune system redundant and scrub anything that isn't a natively produced cell or byproduct. Harkness had mentioned something like that himself, once. About how he didn't need to worry about food poisoning.

Harkness's system was fully functional. It was killing the virus. But if it was at maximum capacity already - or if it took long enough to kill the infection - then just enough might survive to trigger a response beyond that. One that was _never meant to work_. Even normal levels of infection-fighting cells could cause a problem if they were nightmare-cells that attacked anything in sight. There was no telling what the extent of his symptoms might be. His body could just reject its own inner workings completely, for all Ted knew.

Antibodies and a quick cure wouldn't do any good this time. The thing had already been set into motion. But at least this time, he had someone to go to for a second opinion.

He gave Harkness an elephant's dose of ibuprofen to get past the scrubbers and took Curie aside to explain everything to her. The facts about Harkness being a synth and the Institute's methods for making synths as well as his thoughts. After he'd told her everything, she took a few seconds to process with one of her dainty arms tucked up against the underside of one of her eye stalks in an imitation of a human with their hand to their chin.

"I would suggest an aggressive treatment of prednisone and methotrexate," she said. "And we will have to monitor dosages closely to be sure that there are no undesired effects."

"Or to make sure there's any effects at all." She bobbed one of her eyestalks to nod, and he allowed himself a moment to breathe. He knew his own symptoms well enough: an allergic reaction to the latex gloves. Not that they had any alternatives in the vault's storage. "And what about getting antibodies from Austin once he's okay?"

"I am afraid the antibodies are not the only components to an antidote, and I have run out of other ingredients with which to synthesize more." Curie did a little robot-bounce in midair. "However! If, how do you say, horseshoe crabs still exist even this long after the war--"

Ted remembered the mirelurks. One had tried to eat his shoe, damn it. "They do."

"--then if you could get me a blood sample, I would be able to make enough for a dose suited to monsieur Harkness. Oh! But, please do not hurt the little crabs! Be sure to set them free after you have gained an adequate sample from them, and please do not sample the same one twice."

He could do that. Later, though. "Save some antihistamines for me, alright?"

Another little eyestalk-bob. "Oui, monsieur."

"Great. Thanks. Go do what you gotta do, okay? Lemme know if you need anything else."

It took him a few minutes to work himself back up to being able to go back in there after that. He'd been scared before, like this. It was a familiar feeling, and not one he was especially fond of. He could say it was allergies all he wanted, but in reality, he knew exactly why his chest felt tight right then. _He wasn't going to lose anyone today._ Harkness would be okay.

For just a little while, Ted allowed himself a few tears. Just enough that he'd be able to hold it together when he went back in. He snuffled, he hiccupped, he wiped his eyes and got his breathing back to normal. That was all he needed.

He totally didn't tear up again when he went back in the main room of the clinic and saw that Austin was awake. Nope. Did not.

(Actually, he totally did.)

 


	14. 13: the life in my hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just now finished chapter 15. It is made of good. This one is too, but 15 is just, so pure. 
> 
> My numbering system goes weird when I include interlude chapters with a change of perspective. It goes even weirder when I include introductory chapters, but in this one I didn't, so. WHATEVS. 
> 
> "When will you slow down, Andy?" WHO KNOWS

Harkness didn't get sick. He _didn't_. It just wasn't something that happened. So when it did end up happening, he wasn't actually aware that was what it was. All he'd known when he stumbled into the clinic was that there was _no damage_ registering beyond the wound he'd sustained and the scratch on his nose, and that his core temperature wasn't matching up with his overall body temperature for some reason.

That and he felt cold. Shivery. Which didn't make sense. He was fully clothed and the external ambient temperature was a reasonable seventy-one degrees fahrenheit. And why did he ache all over? _No damage_ , his system diagnostic said. Minor lactic acid buildup in his tissues and that was it, aside from where he'd been bitten when he'd been overwhelmed (which had happened precisely once and never again, thank you, he was a fucking Courser, he did not get snuck up on by mole rats unless they were coming faster than he could shoot them and their numbers were over a dozen, which was something that never got a chance to happen more than once if it happened at all).

But the weakness that came next? That, he wasn't prepared for. His system threw up its metaphorical hands at that. Physically, there was nothing wrong. His muscles should've been working just fine, but they weren't. Because "unknown error" apparently.

He was getting a little frustrated by that point. And okay, maybe he was scared too, but, well? So? Pardon him for being scared when his body didn't do what he told it to! That was the kind of thing that only happened if he was being hacked, or if he'd picked up some kind of malware.

(If one were to ask him how he thought he was doing when he was coaxed into a bed and gently maneuvered into lying down on it, he would've said he was handling it just fine.)

It was around the time Ted started talking about him like he was infected with something that he actively started to worry about it in a more typical fashion. He wasn't really thinking when he grabbed Ted's arm. The most he figured he'd say was _I don't know what's wrong with me_. But he couldn't even get that much out. His latency was so bad by that point that it was acting as a fair simulacra of delirium. Speech had become too much of a resource hog.

That full-body ache was getting worse, bone-deep if he had to pick a descriptor. He was hot and cold at the same time, his core temperature starting to rise with his overall body temperature because the usual seamless symbiosis of organic and mechanical parts was shot to hell. Was this what being sick was? If so, he hated it. Hated everything about it. It was miserable and it sucked and he wanted very much to not be in such a state, and not being able to do anything about it made it all that much worse.

"You're overheating," Ted mumbled to him at some point. Harkness tried to focus on it and it took effort. Everything took more effort, even breathing. It was the computing equivalent of trying to run an olympic event in a peat bog. "Got any kind of sleep mode you can do?"

A light touch brushed a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. Was he sweating? He felt clammy. It was unpleasant. Eventually he realized he was supposed to be answering a question, and then he labored for several seconds trying to come up with an answer. He had a sleep mode. (He'd be a shitty human if he didn't.) "Mm." Open mouth, then make words. Right. "I do."

"Okay." Was Ted petting his hair? It felt nice. "Can you do that for me?"

Oh. There was an idea. He hadn't thought of that.

\---

He woke sluggishly, dragged into wakefulness six hours later by automated processes that regulated his sleep cycles for maximum efficiency. Still overheated, but not nearly as badly; his internal mechanisms finally had enough room to radiate heat to the rest of him without damage, at least, so there was that. But he was distressingly aware of how sweaty he was, and that his mouth felt like it was full of cotton, and that everything - _everything_ \- ached still, even if the damage had been halted.

And the error messages didn't make it much better. Minor damage to the right arm, a sustained unhealing pinprick irritating all the sensors around it. Filtration systems at maximum capacity. Multiple contaminants detected. Tissue damage in a pattern on his lower left leg that suggested it had been cleaned and stitched. And his muscles-- there was no precedent for the systemic degredation, no matter how minor it was overall. Even though it would heal easily, just knowing it was there was deeply worrying. He'd never been that close to being incapacitated.

When he opened his eyes, it was to the sound of hushed voices. Across the clinic was a group of people - the Overseer, and Ted, and that doctor - talking quietly. He had to focus to make out what they were saying, speech recognition software still booting back up.

"--be out of your hair by tomorrow," Ted was saying. He sounded tired, voice rough and worn with sleeplessness. Had he not slept? It was morning by then.

"I must say, I'm skeptical of your course of treatment," the doctor admonished. "I'm not sure he'll be well enough to even leave this room, let alone the vault itself."

Ted shook his head. "He'll be fine. Give him a day. After that, Curie and I can handle anything else that comes up." There was a smile to his voice, but Harkness was at the wrong angle to see it. "Besides, even if he does end up in bed again, I don't think you guys want a steady parade of anxious Minutemen dicking around in your vault."

"What about the sub-levels?" the Overseer asked. "Do you think it'll be safe to go down there?"

"If you bring proper safety equipment for dealing with hazardous materials, sure. Just so long as you follow the right disposal procedures for any organic waste or suspicious samples you might find, and don't touch anything with your bare hands. That kinda thing. It's not an airborne pathogen." Ted wrung his hands, itching and rubbing at them idly. They were reddish and blotchy. Odd. "As for the mole rats? Incinerate the bodies, treat the leftovers as hazardous waste. Take no chances."

"Alright. And you're sure your vaccine will work?"

"Not my vaccine. Curie's. And, well. Pretty sure?" He shrugged. "Most vaccines need a little bit of a lead-up to actually start working, so once she's got it synthesized, I figure the best bet is to give it a couple of weeks before you send anyone who's vaccinated down there. Just to be safe. Unless you want a dramatic increase in autoimmune disorders on your hands."

All of a sudden he turned his head to shoot a glance at Harkness; not expecting this, Harkness didn't have time to decide whether he should pretend to be asleep or not. That split second of hesitation was enough for Ted to catch him awake and break into a smile.

"Listen, guys," Ted told them, "I hate to cut this short, but it's been a long night. I really need to sit down before I fall down."

"Oh! Of course." The Overseer stepped aside, gestured to the door. "We have a spare room if you'd--"

"That won't be necessary, but thanks." Ted did his best to look apologetic, ducking his head and scuffing a foot on the floor. "I think I'll just take it easy in here for a while, if that's okay."

The doctor started to protest, but the Overseer shushed him with a look. "Fine by me," she said. "After what you both did for Austin, I'd say you boys have earned yourselves a break. Take as much time as you need, Davies."

Harkness watched, as Ted waited for them to leave the room and then heaved a sigh and sagged once they had. Then it was his turn to wait while Ted walked over, pulling up a rolling office chair behind him. Right up next to Harkness's bed, on the side opposite the IV drip. When Ted finally plopped down in the chair (backwards, naturally, with his arms resting on top of the back and pillowing his head), he looked dead on his feet.

"You look like shit," Harkness rasped. His voice was shot to hell, but at least it was working this time. That was an improvement.

Ted hummed noncommitally. "Had to run out and get mirelurk blood for Curie. S'a component in horseshoe crabs' makeup that allows for vaccines to not be outright rejected by the body, gives a--" here, he yawned "--a better chance of integration. Or, somethin'. Shit."

"So you didn't sleep." A guess, and one that was confirmed when Ted shook his head tiredly. "Get some sleep."

"I will, I will. Promise."

"Right."

"Hey. I promised I'd fix you first, so that comes first, alright?" Ted shifted to yawn again and itch at his hands. "Austin's with his grandma. Gave him a bronchiodilator. Figure he'll be off it in a month. Curie's thing was a one-two punch, hit the symptoms and the underlying cause. Might be some lingering asthma, but nothing severe. It didn't get left alone long enough to cause scarring."

"Good." Harkness didn't ask why it wouldn't have worked on him. He wouldn't have been the priority even if it had been possible that it might work; Austin came first.

Ted chuckled weakly, partially burying his face in his arms. "Jesus, look at you. All stoic. Worrying about everyone else."

"I'm not stoic."

"You're stoic as fuck, man. I mean, don't get me wrong, you definitely emote, just. There's 'subtle' and then there's your emotionally constipated ass."

It was worded like an insult, so why did it sound fond? "Maybe I don't feel like vomiting my feelings everywhere."

"Yeah, well. Maybe I wish you would, sometimes."

Harkness paused to frown at him. "What--" Shifted to sit up straighter in bed, winced when the movement pulled at the IV line and set off a new mess of error messages and pain signals. "--what do you want me to say?" Ted shook his head with the edges of a smirk visible from the portion of his face that wasn't hidden by arms, and that just made Harkness frown even harder. "Ted."

"I'm just-- you're still thinking like this is about what everyone else wants or needs. It's so _you_ , man." He scooted in his chair to rest his chin on his arms, smiling all over again. "It almost gets to the point of self-flagellation sometimes. It's okay to be selfish and vulnerable, y'know."

"You want me to be selfish?"

Ted snorted. " _Dude_."

"What."

"Look. What if I said I want to actually know what you're thinking and not have to guess?"

Harkness laughed. He knew it had to sound wrecked coming from his voice as it was right then, but... "No."

"There, see? That's honest. It works for me." Ted resumed scratching at his hands. "Not what I was expecting, but it works."

"What were you expecting?"

"Little more defensiveness. Maybe something I could work with. But you're just--" he gestured vaguely before letting his hands fall back to where they'd been, "--just, not giving me anything lately."

It probably should've been offensive that Ted was being so flippant about manipulating the situation to get something like an admission of vulnerability out of Harkness, but it wasn't. For one thing, Harkness kind of knew he'd been deliberately avoiding rising to Ted's more recent attempts at baiting him. For another, he knew Ted was worried, because he knew he'd been obvious in giving Ted reasons to worry. He was always obvious. Ted never failed to see right through him.

But this wasn't something he could give. Not yet, maybe not ever. Anything would be too much, opening the floodgates. To say he'd been scared, was still scared, would be to let his guard down enough that Ted might see everything else behind it. Like how he'd put his own safety into Ted's hands out of trust, knowing he'd be taken care of-- it was a miracle Ted hadn't seen it already.

"I'll be fine," Harkness said. "Feeling better already. Really."

Ted blew a raspberry. "Uh-huh, sure."

"I mean it." He didn't, and Ted definitely knew that, but that wasn't the point. He knew he'd be fine, because Ted would make sure of it. "Now get some sleep. Don't make me order you. I can do that. I'm the General."

"Alright, I'm going, damn." Stifling a yawn, Ted pushed himself up from his seat and stretched.

Then he scratched some more. "And do something about your hands."

"It's just an allergic reaction to--"

" _Ted_."

"Okay, okay. I'll go raid storage for some antihistamines or something."

Harkness fell back against the pillows and sighed, trying not to smile. Beligerent little shit.

\---

They headed back the next day, trudging through four inches of snow that had a crunchy, frozen outer layer. Somehow, they'd managed to convince the vault doctor that Harkness had a mutation that made him incredibly medication-resistant, and he'd come out of it with a bottle of miserable, fat pills that involved doses one probably wouldn't even give to a draft horse. The disease was gone (in that it wasn't present in his blood or tissue anymore) but his system was still reacting to nothing, so he had to take two a day for a week, then one a day for another week, then Curie would take more blood samples and tell him if he needed more treatment.

He remembered the look on Ted's face, though. A look that was even easy for Harkness to read. It'd been a look that told him, without having to say anything to that effect out loud, that he might always need more treatment. Harkness was hoping that maybe he'd misinterpreted something, but it was a slim hope, and his systemic weakness made him more inclined to see the likelihood of him being wrong about this as woefully small.

Oh yeah, and Curie was coming with them, too. That was a thing. Harkness didn't like her all that much, but Ted was insistent. Had called her an invaluable asset. He wanted her help starting vaccinations at as many settlements as possible for as many things as possible, wanted her to help him test soil PH, wanted her to look at his ideas for implementing better water pumps and purification systems. He finally had someone to bounce ideas off of that wasn't Sturges, and this being Ted, he never lacked for ideas.

And Curie? She was glad to help. She babbled as much as Ted did, chirpy and bright as she discussed background radiation and scooped up samples of snow to test for contamination in passing. Ted told her about what he'd heard of the Glowing Sea, and she gasped and said she would love to visit it and analyze the after-effects of such an event more thoroughly. Harkness heard this and told them, as firmly as possible, _no_.

(Ted laughed and told her _maybe_.)

They took a break at Oberland. Curie busied herself analyzing more snow and politely interrogating a settler about a mole on her cheek while Ted got Harkness a cup of water from the settlement's main pump.

"You still look half-dead, y'know," Ted told him quietly, out of earshot of the locals. "Lemme know if you need a break, okay?"

Harkness shook his head as he took a gulp of the water along with one of his daily pills (which tasted _godawful_ and if he had a gag reflex he might've given up entirely). "I'm fine. Just a little more power draw than I'm used to." A lot more, just to stay upright. Let alone walk. But he wasn't about to say as much out loud.

Ted smiled and reached over to grip his upper arm and give it a squeeze. "Okay. Just making sure."

It was around five PM when they got back to Sanctuary, finding Jun digging paths through the snow with a shovel and wearing a patched coat. He waved as they crossed the bridge, beaming at them; when all this had started, he hadn't been capable of smiling like that. Harkness could see hope in him that hadn't been there before.

A few more meters of walking, and Ted finally spoke. "You're looking a little scruffy around the edges again. Need another shave?"

Everything ground to a halt for a second; it took Harkness a little longer than usual to respond. "No," he said eventually. "I'll handle it. Thanks."

"Okay, well. Lemme know if you change your mind." Ted let out a sigh, breath turning to steam in the cold winter air. "I've gotta go make sure all the turrets handled the snow alright, so. I'll uh, I'll see you?"

"Yeah." He was turning Ted away actively now. Had to, because Ted was actively trying to get closer. If he didn't shut down Ted's attempts at closeness, then he'd be found out.

He slept in the main house that night - actually _slept_ , for once, instead of just pretending to or reading a book or staying up on anxious watch - and when he came to the communal breakfast table the next morning, he was clean-shaven. But he also had a cut on his face, in the same spot as always. It'd scabbed over by then, but it was obvious, and Ted definitely noticed.

Neither of them said anything.

 


	15. 14: the one you love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might make you sad, but hopefully it will also make you laugh and smile. It polishes off this part of their mutual arc, and I think it's as good a note as any to take a quick break on to get my bearings and write more. I've got later plot ideas now that, because of the direction the plot has taken, will have that much more weight once I get to them, so it'll be fun to see where they fit in with the overall narrative arc.
> 
> I figure this chapter will either be a halfway point or a three-quarters point of this particular fic. But aside from the castle, I don't know where to go from here. 
> 
> Some art, because I draw them as much as I write them:  
> http://logicalfangirl.tumblr.com/post/165812577895/doodles-8d-ill-post-the-next-chapter-tonight  
> http://logicalfangirl.tumblr.com/post/165631857630/its-sketch-dump-time-who-me-im-not  
> http://logicalfangirl.tumblr.com/post/165638400050/these-are-technically-anatomy-sketch-practice  
> http://logicalfangirl.tumblr.com/post/165192273345/i-got-a-new-tablet-and-immediately-got-to-drawing

The moment Preston heard the news, he insisted that Harkness take it easy until he'd recovered.

"I'll be honest, General, you look like you've been through hell." Even though the tone wasn't exactly unkind, Preston's words made Harkness want to snap at him. "Don't worry about it. We'll handle things from here for a while. The more you rest up, the quicker you can be back on your feet."

It was insulting. Degrading. Humiliating. He was a fucking Courser. A top of the line model. Brought down by a _disease_. Made worse by the fact that Preston was right; he was in no shape to be taking assignments. Coming out of the vault he'd only been operating at 46% of his usual overall strength capacity, based on how much power it took to move. A day of recovery put him at 51%. Day two put him at 55%. At three days, he managed 58%. Then 60%.

Every day he wondered what percentage would be his new normal, if that would be the end of his "recovery". Day seven was a .5% improvement. Then Curie dropped his dose, and the next day ate away at 4.7% of his capacity. He didn't even have to tell her; she noticed. It dropped another 1.2% before it stabilized and started going back up again, with the dosage of his medication having to come back up to its previous levels.

And Ted, who had always kept him calm and safe, was missing. Gone. Out on assignments. Helping that Assaultron with the Mechanist problem as wandering bands of eyebot-led attack bots became a more frequent occurrance, building more robots for more places out of spare and scavenged parts. Checking on defenses, securing supply lines, going scavenging. Everything Harkness or others usually did, plus the things Ted already had to do because he was the only one who fully knew how to do them.

Selfish as it was, all Harkness cared about was that Ted wasn't there. November had turned over into December, the Commonwealth was covered in a cold blanket of white, and Harkness was alone.

Worst of all, he knew it was his fault. First for caring, then for being scared of it, then for pushing Ted away. He'd done this to himself, and now Ted was giving him what he'd seemed to want: distance. But with him being so thoroughly weakened, it made the thought of doing something about how much he cared that much more terrifying. He couldn't protect Ted even if he wanted to. Probably couldn't even protect himself.

He knew what he wanted. But it was something he could never let himself have.

"Monsieur Harkness?"

Harkness glanced towards the doorway of his room in the main house, where Curie awaited him. She bobbed with her usual energy.

"It is time for your physical therapy," she said. "I know you are not feeling well, but we must endeavour to not skip even a single day unless it is absolutely necessary."

He sighed as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Everything ached still, but it wasn't as bad. A background process that didn't take up too much space. "Right." She reached out an arm to help him up, but he waved her aside and got up on his own by leaning some of his weight on the headboard. "How long do you think I'll have to go through this?"

"I cannot say, monsieur. Hopefully, not long." Her voice didn't betray anything but concern, and that was programmed. "In humans, cases of dermatomyositis can last indefinitely, but some also resolve themselves with time and treatment. However, I have no records in my memory of anyone who is, shall we say, like you."

"So you can't give me a timeframe."

"I am afraid not. My apologies if I have upset you." She bowed her eyestalks in an approximation of an apologetic gesture. "If it is any consolation at all, you do not appear to be at risk for heart failure?"

No wonder Ted didn't tell him. "Thanks, Curie."

"You are most welcome." She popped out the door, and he followed her down the hall. The front room was empty, with the furniture moved around to create an open space in the middle of it, and a rug that was only mildly moth-eaten had been rolled out for the sake of comfort. The first few times they'd done this, Curie had taken it upon herself to shoo everyone out and tut over the state of the room as she scooted things around until it was all to her satisfaction; now, people knew better than to come in when the bubbly, sweet robot shut the door on them for an hour.

Harkness laid himself out on the rug, painstakingly slow. It took effort to unclench his teeth when he was finally laying flat on the floor. "Curie?" he asked.

She bounced closer. "Oui, monsieur?"

"Talk to me."

Without hesitation, she went off on a tangent about her analysis of the chemical composition of post-war precipitation, and he let her babble at him for the entire hour while he did his exercises.

\---

Ted came back twelve days after he'd left. Harkness knew this because he woke with a start two hours and twenty-seven minutes off-schedule to the muffled but unmistakable sound of the man's voice, humming a tune just beyond the thin wall that seperated his room from the outdoors. The sun hadn't even come up yet, and even with a space heater the room's ambient temperature was a chilly forty-two degrees fahrenheit, but Harkness didn't even bother to put on shoes before he was stumbling out into the hall and through the front room, headed for the door.

A wall of cold air hit him when he opened it, and the sensors in his socked feet were as eager to communicate how stupid he was for not wearing enough protective clothing as his aching muscles were. But the moment he caught sight of white hair and frost-pinked cheeks, he didn't care. He crossed the freezing concrete in a few long, clumsy strides, caught Ted turning to look as he made it to the snow-covered grass and then the street.

"Harkn--oof!"

The smell of aftershave overwhelmed his senses, and he let it. Face buried in Ted's hair, eyes closed, arms around him and all his layers of warm winter clothing. The error messages telling Harkness it was too cold and that he risked soft tissue damage if he stayed out in these conditions didn't matter.

Gloved hands hesitantly came up to follow the lines of his upper arms to his shoulders, coming to rest on his back. He could feel how stiff Ted was. "Hey." A puff of breath against his neck, warm and humid. "Hey, no, it's okay."

He held on that little bit tighter, remembering to breathe with a choked sound. He needed to think about what he was doing, but-- "Ted."

"Nonono, shhhshshsh, it's gonna be okay babe." Some of the tension melted away from Ted's posture; finally, he felt those arms wrap around him in turn. The only thing keeping him from sagging into it was the knowledge that Ted couldn't actually hold his weight. "I'm here, I'm right here."

"I'm--" His words caught in his throat. "--I'm compromised. I can't, I. I'm not--"

"Shhh, calm down." Ted's hands petted his back in an attempt to soothe. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

This was wrong, it was too dangerous. Too much. Fear clawed at him, telling him he shouldn't have even said as much as he had. But a much greater fear had drawn him out there, pulled him into Ted's arms. The safest place for him to be was right where he was.

He felt a hand move up to his hair, carding through it gently. "What's wrong?" Ted's voice was a fond, warm murmur. Full of concern and something else, that something Harkness had never been able to place.

"I, I'm not," not alright, not good enough, not sure he could even make it through this without-- "I'm not sure I can say it? I-I can't--"

"Just take it slow. Start with something simple." _How about something simple._ An echo of before. "How is it that you're compromised? Is it because you're sick?"

Harkness sighed heavily, shaking his head. Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled away-- back to his full height, even if his muscles didn't agree with him on it being a good idea. Ted fell back into position in front of him and blinked. "No," he said finally. "It's-- it's not that. Or, it is. Kind of."

Ted smiled thinly. "Straw that broke the camel's back, huh?"

"Something like that." With a glance, Harkness took stock of their surroundings. The street was lit, but the sky wasn't. He was cold, and his feet were coldest of all - his socks were soaked clean through - but there was no one around to hear or see. "Definitely doesn't help."

"Okay, I'll bite. Why doesn't it help?"

"Because I can't--" Ted was looking right at him, colorless eyes that shone through with pink and purple and red if one were to look at them in just the right angle in direct light, and the street lamp gave him that perfect angle to get so caught up in all the hues that he had to look away, "--I can't. Protect you."

He heard Ted exhale through his nose, but didn't see it. He was deliberately not looking. "You're worried about that?"

" _Yes_." It came out just a little too emphatic, too broken, but he couldn't take it back once it was said so he squeezed his eyes shut and hoped Ted might not have noticed. "I'm _scared_. I know what it means to not be able to handle the thought of you getting hurt, and I'm compromised because I'm afraid of it happening due to me not being _human_ and not being able to do anything about it."

He didn't dare look.

"It's selfish of me to even tell you this," he said. "I will never be good enough to deserve you. I can't even express how much everything you've done _means_ to me. I feel safe when I'm with you."

"Harkness..."

He looked. The softness in Ted's voice compelled him. What he saw shattered the last bit of resolve he had left to stay silent; Ted looked awed, disbelieving, upset. "Tell me to leave, and I will," even if it tore him apart, even if it killed him, "but don't make me stay away from you if I don't have to. I'm not strong enough to keep this avoidance shit up."

Ted's brow furrowed tightly. "What do you mean, 'tell you to leave'?"

"I trust you." This man had the power to kill him because of that, could do so without a second thought. The danger that had been there from the start-- he was compromised, maybe always had been. "I'll accept whatever it is you want me to do. Tell me it's too dangerous and you'll never see me again. Tell me you don't want this and I'll respect it."

Something about what he was saying made Ted's expression twist into something painful to look at, something Harkness didn't know if he had a word for. "What, so it's that easy for you? Would you just delete me from your memory or something?"

Harkness faltered. What? "Of course it isn't _easy_ \--"

"But you'd leave." Insulted? No-- distraught. "You'd drop everything just for me. Because I told you to."

"Ted--"

"Everything we've done. Everything you've built. Your responsibilities, your long-term goals, your--"

"None of it _matters_ to me!"

Ted quieted, staring up at him.

"If I can't keep you safe," his voice was wavering, thready, "and if you aren't okay with that, then even the Minutemen won't be enough if the Institute finds out about me. Nothing will be enough. I can't hold them off anymore. I can--" he sucked in a sharp breath, "I can barely even hold my own fucking _weight_ when it gets bad. It isn't right for me to have even stayed this long."

Something shifted in Ted's expression, like it had all finally dawned on him. "You-- you're waiting for me to tell you that I want you to stay, is that...?"

 _Yes_. "Tell me to leave and I'll go," Harkness repeated. He was cold. He hadn't gotten enough sleep. The ache in his muscles had turned into a burning, dull pain, and his power reserves were being depleted quicker than they ever should've been just keeping him upright.

"Harkness." Ted pronounced his name firmly, like a command. "What is it you want from me?"

What he wanted. People didn't really ask him that. It was never especially important in the grand scheme of things either. Ted was the only one who ever seemed interested in what he actually wanted. "I--I want..."

There was only one honest answer, and he shut his eyes tightly against having to look at the results of it as he inhaled through gritted teeth. Ted had asked, but--

"I want _you_."

He heard Ted let out a long-held breath. Felt gloved fingers encircling his wrists, pulling his hands forward. Rough, scratchy cloth over rougher thumbs, caressing his knuckles. "You're not afraid I'd hurt you?"

"Never." Not willfully, maliciously. The likelihood of even an accidental injury, mental or physical, was lower with Ted. He was too goddamn paranoid to let something like that slip by him that easily.

"Huh." Like a laugh, but not quite. "Makes one of us."

Harkness opened his eyes again, gaze landing on a crooked, self-deprecating grin. He pulled one of his hands away from Ted's much smaller one and brought it up to cup the man's face, stroking his cheek; a small laugh bubbled out of him when Harkness kissed his forehead.

"Not gonna kiss me properly?" he asked.

"Like you said." Harkness punctuated his words with another gentle kiss, this time pressed into Ted's soft hair. "I'm waiting for you to tell me that's what you want."

"Clear and informed consent. Gotta say, I like that in a guy." Ted paused, and Harkness could hear his grin. "That's a yes, by the way. You are definitely, one hundred percent allowed to do whatever you want with me. Well, y'know, as long as it doesn't involve animals or bloodplay or like... Weird shit."

Harkness huffed, leaning down to kiss Ted properly, as requested. "You're a menace," he mumbled.

"But you love that about me."

"I do." God help him, he did.

(At which point Curie found them and scolded them both soundly for letting Harkness get downright hypothermic.)

\---

They slept in until almost noon afterwards. Curled up in Ted's big pre-war bed under soft sheets and enough layers of warm blankets to satisfy Curie's endless fussing. A heater in the corner warmed Harkness's feet while his socks were hung to dry on an old bar across the top of the closet that had once held an endless amount of coat hangers and nice clothes. Harkness took his next dose of medication a little bit later than he'd intended because of how late they slept in, but he did take it eventually.

When he got to his physical therapy, he did it in Ted's front room, tools and protective equipment squirreled away to make room for it. As he did his exercises, Ted told stories of his own medical problems. Long recoveries, doctor visits, relapses, follow-ups. There was no ridicule and no pity, only commiseration. Illness was a lifelong companion for him, even if he tended to downplay the details somewhat.

But Harkness finally understood what those details might mean without having to be told. The unspoken hardships, the self-doubt, the nagging fears. He was familiar with the mindset that being physically incapable could produce.

Afterwards, with his head in Ted's lap as he cooled down and waited for the pain of exercising to seep out of his muscles, he told Ted how he was calculating his own physical strength based on power draw.

"I'm having to eat and sleep to make up the difference," he said. "Curie thinks it's fascinating."

Ted snorted, running cool fingers through his hair. "Curie thinks cataloguing spot patterns on ladybugs is fascinating." True. "At least getting more sleep means you're defragging more regularly though, right?"

Harkness said nothing, and Ted pursed his lips.

"You know, you'd lock up less if you didn't avoid basic maintenance."

"It's a commitment," Harkness argued. "Do you know how long it takes to sift through that much data? And it takes up at least half of my processing power to do it in a reasonable amount of time at all."

"Harkness you dumb bastard, I swear." A pause. "Don't you pout at me."

"I'm not pouting."

"Yes you are, you're pouting." Ted removed the fingers from his hair and went instead to frame his face with both hands, thumbs resting near his orbital bones at either side. "That's it, we're taking tomorrow off and you're defragging."

"I've taken two weeks off at this point."

"And you'll keep taking time off until you don't have to anymore."

"Preston wants me to help plan his assault on the Castle." A weak excuse. Harkness already had a working plan from the moment it'd been mentioned. The enemy force was _mirelurks_ for fuck's sake.

"Mmhm. Sure." Ted knew it was a weak excuse too. "Or you could wait until I've got the Mechanist thing settled and I've subsumed his robot army into my own. I've got like ten now, not counting guards. Lucy's been helping. Got some secondary workbenches at Taffington and Abernathy already."

"So you're going to represent the Minutemen with an army of flying vibrators."

"I mean, if it'll get people talking."

" _Ted_."

"Kidding, kidding. Christ, you're so easy." Then something seemed to occur to Ted, and he grinned broadly. "Wait, there's a thought. How do you even know what a vibrator is?"

"No comment," Harkness said immediately.

"Hah! Oh, no you don't. You're not getting out of it that easy."

"Bullshit. You can't make me talk."

"I could always just start guessing."

"You'll never get it right." By that point, Harkness was smiling too. Ted's glee was infectious.

"Let's see..." Chewing his lip thoughtfully, Ted leaned back and planted his hands flat on the floor to hold his own weight. "Youuuu worked on an Institute assembly line for sex toys?"

"No??"

"You were short on caps and decided to moonlight as a stripper at a club where they gave them out as party favors?"

" _Ted!_ "

"You found one and thought it was an Easter egg until it started buzzing in your pocket?"

"Where do you come up with--"

"Your ex was so kinky that you had to talk them down from upside-down pegging and that's where you ended up?"

"I-- no??"

"Am I at least getting closer?"

"Kind of??"

"So it's an ex!" Ted snapped his fingers. "Got it. Cool."

Well, yes, but that wasn't exactly narrowing down the circumstances much. "What happened to being nosy?"

"That's all you had to say, honestly. I won't ask too much about your exes if you don't ask too much about mine." Oh. "I figure that's only fair."

Right. Good point.

"By the way," Ted added, "you do realize that we haven't left the house all day, right? The others are definitely gonna talk. Hell, they've _been_ talking."

Yes, people tended to do that. Harkness was more than familiar with the concept. "What makes you think they were already talking about it?"

"Well, Sturges has been trying to get me to get over myself and ask you out for about, uhh... Almost a month? Some shit like that."

Even as sore as he was, Harkness still had the energy to rub a palm over his face in exasperation.

 


	16. 15: habitat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUYS I'M BACK DID YOU MISS ME
> 
> I took a break just in time, because I've been sick for a few days now. Only just got better and was able to kick the fever's ass. :3 But hey! I'm back, even if I might not be updating as frequently since I don't have a buffer now. I've mostly nailed down the key points of where the plot is gonna go, but beyond that, who knows what will happen. 
> 
> ted is just such a shit and I love him

"You sure you're up for this?"

"No."

Harkness smiled as Ted laughed and took his hand to give it a quick squeeze. "Alright. Just wanted to be clear on that."

"I'm still going."

"Figured you would."

For the first time in two weeks, they left Sanctuary together. At 64.7% of his baseline functionality, Harkness got tired of doing fuck-all and decided to head out with Ted for a scavenging run. He was still almost twice as strong as an average human, even if much of his strength was used to compensate for the weight of his nigh-indestructible frame; in spite of his handicap, he could out-muscle someone like Ted easily. He'd just have to stop for the sake of eating and sleeping, which was something he had to do with Ted around anyway.

The fact of the matter was that they needed more settlements. Halfway houses like Taffington were useful for patrols, but they needed more permanent outposts. Between Ted's map, Harkness's knowledge, and Preston's much more recent intel, they'd managed to scope out a couple of possibilities: Outpost Zimonja, a frequent Raider hotspot that was frighteningly well-armed, and Starlight Drive-In, which was a literal minefield.

Most people would shy away from clearing a minefield in the snow. Ted Davies was not most people.

"Over here," he said as his makeshift metal detector clicked enthusiastically.

His pipboy's geiger counter was clicking too; that would be why Harkness was letting Ted do the mine-clearing, watching from the shade of the old diner. They'd found a bottlecap mine in there, too, but it hadn't done shit against Harkness's ballistic weave overcoat. Thankfully. "Watch your rads," he advised.

"I'm watching!" As carefully as possible, Ted kneeled down, swept the snow away from a buried bottlecap mine, and disarmed the mechanism with steady, gloved hands. "There. Two down."

"There's definitely more than two."

"I know, I know." Despite his seeming carefree attitude, Ted's paranoia was serving him well here. He'd mentioned to Harkness that he could've just disarmed everything the easy way by pelting the area with grenades until there wasn't a single un-exploded mine in the place, but he'd much rather be able to actually _use_ the salvage. He had a point, too, considering how many cars were around; Harkness knew how well their frames could be molded into windmills and generators.

If they were intact, anyway.

"Got another one here," Ted informed him. "And a helluva lot of rads, Christ."

Harkness sighed. "We didn't bring any RadAway."

"I've got a hazmat suit back at Sanctuary, but uh. It's back at Sanctuary." After disarming the mine, Ted backed carefully away from the middle of the old parking lot until the clicking from his pipboy died down. "There's a nursing home not far from here. Mystic Pines or something. Think they might have some?"

"What, RadAway?"

"Yeah. I mean, think about it. Older people have a higher risk of cancer, and one of the main treatments for cancer is radiation therapy, so..."

Good point. And Ted wasn't wrong about it not being all that far. "Once you're sure the mines are all clear. I don't want to hear about some poor bastard's leg getting blown off later."

"Oh, trust me, this is definitely my number one priority." A pause. "Taken your meds yet?"

"It's not time yet. I've got another half-hour."

"Alright, alright. Well, when you do, lemme know and we'll take a break to get some lunch."

Harkness wanted to say he wasn't hungry - eating wasn't something he considered pleasant except in very rare circumstances - but there was his power draw to consider. His recharge rates had been thrown all out of whack. Annoying as it was, it would probably be better to listen to Ted than it would be to put it off. Getting too low on reserve power would make him anxious, which would put him in a feedback loop that could put him at even more critically low levels until he was forced to go into sleep mode to recharge.

"Babe?" Ted paused to straighten up and peer at Harkness. "That alright with you?"

He supposed it'd have to be. "What's for lunch?"

"Jun made some sandwiches with mutfruit jam from Greygarden."

Oh. Well, in that case. "Count me in," he said. Then he frowned as Ted burst into a fit of giggles. "What?"

"Nothing! Nothing, just... God, your sweet tooth is adorable, babe."

Harkness frowned even harder.

\---

Ted's pipboy geiger counter was more useful than Harkness's internal one when it came to food. Because his system's ability to filter contaminants was being deliberately overloaded, irradiated food was actually a concern. Most cooked and post-war processed foods were fine, but Ted still didn't let him eat "anything more radioactive than a banana" and Harkness was thankful for his attention to detail.

Although why that was Ted's standard for baseline radioactivity was anyone's guess. Were bananas radioactive? Harkness had never seen one in person to be able to check for such a thing.

Once both of them had eaten and taken their respective deeply unpleasant medications, it was time to head off to Mystic Pines to look for something to nullify the dose of radiation Ted had been exposed to. It hadn't been enough to make his skin blister, but it was enough to make him pretty fucking ill if he didn't do something about it eventually.

For Harkness, such a dose would have probably fried the sensors in his skin's outer layers and set his cells on a course to start breaking down soon after. If cancer didn't follow, tissue necrosis probably would; it was one of the bigger flaws of his production line, a reason models like him had been phased out. Fully organic synths could be given standard radiation treatments and genetically engineered to resist tissue damage or a breakdown of genetic material, but Harkness existed as a delicate balance between man and machine that could be easily thrown off, no matter how much genetic engineering had been done on his soft tissue to prevent it.

That was the only reason he was remotely okay with Ted taking over with tasks related to any kind of radioactivity. Even then, he'd probably step in if it got too dangerous. He could technically live without skin or muscle. His soft tissue could melt off of his metal endoskeleton completely and he'd still function, albeit with difficulty. Ted couldn't do that.

(He hadn't needed to do so yet, though. Possibly because Ted knew, and was keeping himself as safe as possible on purpose. A backwards kind of mutually assured destruction, with each of them willing to put himself through hell to see the other kept safe and knowing the other would do the same, meaning neither would take unnecessary risks. Or something like that. Harkness was probably overthinking things again.)

They arrived at Mystic Pines just past midday, the sun's glare shining off of the snow. It was cold enough by that point in the year that even though previous days had managed to melt the top layer of it, that layer had since re-frozen so that it crunched underfoot and resisted being disturbed by lighter footfalls; theirs were the first sets of prints that visibly diverged from the main road and headed to the nursing home proper, with its partially caved-in roof and every elements-exposed surface blanketed in white.

"Alright, babe," Ted began, rubbing his hands together, "what's your encyclopedia of a brain say about this place?"

"That it's one of a bunch of shitty hiding places in the area," Harkness replied. "Holes in the roof, an open courtyard in the middle, small rooms that are easy to get trapped in and impossible to lock down, a basement to starve or suffocate in, and a gated security room that isn't walled-off well enough to prevent getting shot."

"Uh. Alright?"

Harkness smiled. "You want the gated security room. If it hasn't been looted already, then that's where the chems and medicine were kept. Back of the building on your right side."

Ted blew a raspberry at him. "Pppthhbt. See, that's all you had to say."

"You asked."

"So now I'm the one who has to word my questions better, huh?"

"Yes."

Something about the conversation gave Ted pause as they made their way towards the back of the building. The snow crunched and crackled under their feet, and where there wasn't any snow, there were gently creaking floorboards. "Does this mean you can go all tactical analysis on like... Anywhere you've been in the Commonwealth?"

Harkness didn't bother to hide his amusement. "If I know the floor plan."

"Okay. Sanctuary?"

"Better off if we'd focused our efforts along the river and choke points like the bridge, but we didn't have the resources for new construction. The hill isn't defensible. Even if you put turrets in the tree."

"I like my tree turrets."

"Like them all you want, it's not exactly a strategic place to put them. We would've been better off building up the hillside between the river and the main house and lining the top of the hill with turrets."

"Alright, alright. Christ. What about Greygarden?"

"If you can get entrenched on the cliffs and build up to the overpass, then put your turrets up there, then a ground-based force would have a hell of a time. But the flat part where the greenhouse is? That's a nightmare."

"Even with the turrets on the roof?"

"Anyone comes at it from the hillside above and you're at an immediate disadvantage if you haven't got the overpass. Which we don't."

Ted hummed thoughtfully; they reached the locked security door, above which was one of the few places where the roof was mostly intact, and he immediately went to work on the nearby terminal after blowing on his fingers to warm them. "Why don't we?"

"Can't spare the patrols right now. Once we take the Castle, we'll have a more centrally located base of operations to coordinate from and better methods of communication with those patrols along with it. Until then, overpasses are largely Gunner territory." Harkness leaned against a wall to watch, arms folded over his chest. "We also have to be aware that if we cut into the Gunners' profits, we're cutting into Institute-funded jobs in the process. Any move we make in that direction has to be decisive, and we have to be ready for the blowback."

"Ahh. So you're being paranoid again. Got it." Somehow it didn't come across as an insult when Ted said it, likely because the man was just as paranoid as Harkness was. His fingers tapped away at the keys as he continued, not looking away from the screen. "Does the Institute do that a lot? Use normal people as puppets, I mean."

Harkness shot a glance at the broken ceiling before he spoke. No birds, none within earshot. He lowered his voice anyway. "Puppets, synth replacements, pawns. That's how they stay afloat. Otherwise they would've run out of resources a century ago."

"Uh-huh." Ted drew his teeth over his lower lip, and his fingers paused to hover over the keys for a moment. "So why aren't you afraid of me being, y'know, one of them?"

It took all of Harkness's self-control not to laugh. He tipped his head back and smiled at the ceiling instead. "No. They wouldn't even bother."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure." They couldn't replace Ted and make it believable. Nor could they bribe or coerce someone like Ted into working for them. "I worry more about them killing and replacing _me_ than I would ever worry about you being compromised."

Ted blinked at him for a second, then turned back to the terminal and took a deep, steadying breath before typing out the final sequence that would open the door. The magnetic locks disengaged, and the door swung open with an unholy cacophony of badly-rusted hinges. "Okay," he said, giving Harkness a shaky-but-genuine smile. "That, uh-- yeah, okay. Then let's, uh, let's finish up here and get going."

Harkness had no idea what that look was about, but tentatively filed it away as a positive thing anyway.

\---

One dose of RadAway later, and they left the old nursing home through the back entrance after looting a fusion core from the basement and a tidy stash of chems from a second sweep of the building proper. There had been a stealth boy tucked away in one of the rooms too, along with a set of army fatigues; Harkness could easily agree with Ted's guess that one of the residents had been a veteran.

As they left, it was Ted was the one who spotted the pipes. Or rather, he was the one who spotted the red light shining out of one of them against the surface of the frozen, receded lake, and started down the hill to go investigate with only a "what's that" to preface his decision. It was far from the most impulsive thing Harkness had ever seen him do.

Climbing out onto the old drainage pipe and looking like he was about to jump in, though? That was impulsive enough to give Harkness pause.

"Are you sure that's safe?"

"Huh? Oh!" It was at that moment that Ted seemed to realize there was ice. Ice that he could possibly fall through. "Uh, well. I weigh about... A hundred twenty-five pounds?"

Harkness weighed more than twice that. "Is the water line higher than the edge of the pipe?"

"Uhhh..." Ted dropped to his hands and knees to poke his head into the pipe and check, kicking up a bit of loose snow and ending up with his hood flopping partially over his head in the process. "Nope! All clear."

"Then I won't stop you." The ice wouldn't be nearly thick enough to hold either of them if it was. "Just so you know, I remember these pipes being blocked before."

"Well there's a door in there now, so somebody probably unblocked it." It took some acrobatics for Ted to hoist himself over the edge of the pipe without falling on the ice, his boots hitting the inside with a couple of metallic _clunk_ s just as Harkness was starting to catch up to him on the way down the hill. "Hah! Now ain't this fancy."

Harkness managed to maneuver himself into the pipe with a bit less grace than he might've otherwise had, the impact of the landing jarring its way up his legs. When he straightened, he saw what Ted was talking about: a metal door, topped with a red industrial light. That definitely hadn't been there ten years ago.

"Raiders, y'think?" Ted guessed.

"Or Gunners." The build quality was too good for a typical raider gang. Besides, there weren't any trophies warning people away. "Could be dangerous."

"No, see, dangerous is when _you_ get scared. You're not scared, therefore: not dangerous."

Annoyingly, Ted had a point. To Harkness, Gunners weren't really dangerous. "Just be careful. Gunners tend to be well-armed."

"Better-armed than Nuka grenades? --I'm kidding, jeez, don't give me that look."

"You worry me."

Ted had the nerve to _wink_ at him instead of giving a proper response.

 


	17. 16: cry for the moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: they have a fight. Not a big one, but it's still a fight. I honestly wasn't even expecting it, but I like how it turned out all the same. I got invested partway through and had to stay up 'til the wee hours just to see it through to its conclusion and finish writing it. xD
> 
> I'm thinking about writing a Ted interlude again after this one. I don't think we need to see the full gory details of what happens at Covenant, do we?

They stepped through the door, and into the sudden spotlit glare of a construction lamp.

It took a fraction of a second for Harkness to adjust to the sudden change in light levels; even as Ted was shielding his eyes and squinting, Harkness was able to take stock of their surroundings. There were stairs, there were vented ducts overhead, and there were men with guns, but the men with guns weren't well-armed, well-armored, or even particularly well-trained by the look of them. Shirts, jeans, and shoddy combat armor did not a good security force make.

Because that was what they were. A security force. They certainly weren't Gunners, just civilians that had picked up guns and been told to look intimidating. Harkness knew them for what they were the second he saw them, and was able to relax even as he realized that they probably didn't have the experience to know when _not_ to shoot; Harkness never once had _his_ people announce themselves by getting in a potential intruder's face with bright lights and menacing looks. It only worked for the ones that weren't actually a threat.

"You don't belong here," the one in front said. He was barrel-chested, dark-haired, and lantern-jawed. He was clutching his gun in a way he'd probably seen soldiers doing in pre-war propoganda posters. Four more men stood behind him, two at either side. They formed a V-shape that did little to block the stairs, which was either shitty planning or an obvious ploy to lure people that way for easier shots. Harkness was unimpressed.

Ted peered at them through the bright light with a hand over his eyes as he continued to adjust. "Yeah? Where's 'here'?"

"None of your damn business."

"Well hot damn. You're a pleasant one, aren't you?" Leaning over, Ted elbowed Harkness in the side. "Whaddya think, babe?"

Harkness shrugged. "Up to them." He looked to the guards. "Are you going to let us leave?"

The guards conferred silently in a series of glances that Harkness knew well. They weren't subtle at all, with their grim nods and set jaws, the way their grips tightened on their respective weapons. Silly little submachine guns meant for a spray-and-pray style with hardly any penetrating power. Management should've at least given them assault rifles if their aim was that bad. Hell, if they needed deterrents, then shotguns loaded with rock salt would do the trick in such close quarters.

"I'm sorry," the head guard said, "but you've already seen too much."

By the time they took aim, Harkness was already moving.

The first thing he did was grab Ted and cover the man with his bulk. Just in time, as the rain of bullets pelted his back through his coat and had their impacts neatly absorbed by the ballistic fiber mesh beneath the thick wool. Ted, meanwhile, had anticipated the move and swung with it, coming through it only mildly winded and taking the opportunity to reach for a frag grenade. It helped that they'd done this before, that they'd had raiders to practice with on a number of occasions.

When the grenade went flying, the guards panicked and scattered. For a few seconds, they stopped shooting. A few seconds was all Harkness needed to pull out the silenced pistol and get five neatly placed headshots.

Ted sighed as he went over to pick up his grenade afterward, shaking his head. "Didn't even have to pull the pin. Idiots."

"If they really wanted to protect whatever's here, they would've shot us on sight," Harkness said. "Or had a sniper waiting over there near that ductwork. Decent vantage, hard to see through the glare. We weren't subtle on the way in."

"Whaddya think he meant when he said we'd 'seen too much'?" Face twisted up in a grimace, Ted poked at the corpse of the big one who'd been in front with the toe of his boot. "Think we oughta dig a little deeper?"

Harkness considered. On the one hand, it seemed almost cruel to be cutting through such laughable security, even downright unfair. On the other, he sort of wanted to know what was going there that was such a big deal that just getting in the door meant they'd seen 'too much' to be allowed to leave. "I think I'd like to have a few words with management on how lax the security is down here. Maybe I'll file a formal complaint."

Ted snorted and shook his head, twisting around to reach for his backpack (a refurbished military pack that had replaced the duffle of late). "Alright," he sighed, "lemme get out my power-fist."

"Take your time. I doubt they're competent enough to figure out there's a new hole in their security anytime soon." Ted got a snicker out of that, and Harkness blinked at him. "What?"

"You get so frowny at shitty security, babe. Like they've personally offended you or something." He rolled up the sleeve of his coat to secure his power-fist firmly over his hand. "It's adorable."

"I'm not adorable."

"No, you're definitely adorable. See? Now you're pouting. Cute as hell when you do that."

"I don't pout," Harkness insisted. Ted just rolled his eyes and strolled right on by, taking the stairs that led into the secret compound. "I _don't._ Ted."

"You coming or not?"

Harkness grudgingly followed.

\---

It wasnt long before they encountered more guards, along with a turret. Ted took care of the turret by exploiting its blind spots and proceeding to punch it until its moving parts ground together and were forced to halt, while Harkness dispatched the guards with quiet efficiency. None of them were especially good; one tried to call for help and got a bullet in the throat, not that it mattered whether he was heard or not when Ted was beating the shit out of a steel-clad turret with a pneumatic gauntlet loudly enough to alert the whole place.

This wasn't altogether a bad thing, however. Ted made for an excellent distraction, with his grenades and enthusiasm for punching things. In a way, it made things a lot easier for Harkness, since no one was ever focused on the big one with the silenced pistol when they had a ball of barely-contained aggression in their faces.

In hindsight, he knew Ted would worry about how easy it was to get caught up in the fight. For Harkness, it was relaxing because it was what he was made for, and Ted understood that. But Ted wasn't nearly so accepting of himself or his own penchant for violence. If he could, he'd take a peaceful route every time. Fight his own impulse to do harm. He couldn't quite accept self-defense or the greater good as answers.

Hiding behind a smile, a joke. Telling corpses they should've just run, or known better than to shoot first. Going through their pockets for caps or ammo, but closing the eyes of the dead when he thought Harkness wasn't looking. _Made for creation, not destruction._

Ted didn't just fight in peoples' faces because he couldn't see well. He did it so that he would remember them. Know the full impact of what he was doing. Be forced to pay for it in guilt and the weight of the lives he ruined.

A good man.

Harkness had only ever seen him pissed off a handful of times. Brief glimpses of intensity, moments of a good and smart man judging something to be so objectively vile as to be worth the guilt inherent in declaring war on it. Ringing as well-deserved judgment every time, because Ted never did these things impulsively. The Institute's policies, the ways of raiders, the values of the Brotherhood of Steel as he'd heard them from Danse-- Ted hated them.

And when they found a holotape in a blood-spattered room, on a desk not far from a chair adorned with a set of faintly rusted handcuffs, Ted had found a new thing to hate.

"They're torturing them," he breathed. He looked like he was in shock, fingers loose on the keys of the terminal. "These people-- they're just..." He trailed off and ran a hand over his face, shaking his head.

Harkness knew why. "They think they can find a way to prove the identity of synths," he said. Abhorrent methods, but a valid goal in the minds of many. "That's worth something to people."

"It doesn't fucking _matter_ if it's worth something," Ted growled back. He turned to face Harkness; there, that fire in his eyes. "It shouldn't be worth _anything_. It shouldn't-- it's doesn't even fucking _matter!_ "

"No. But it does." That was why it was happening-- people wanted it to happen. They didn't trust synths. Any that looked human were in a state of permanent existential treason to humanity if they didn't out themselves. And if they did, they would be killed for existing as a lie in the first place. "They're scared. They have reason to be."

Ted snarled, stepping away from the terminal to get up in his face. "Are you defending this?" He gestured with his power-fist to the bloody chair, the handcuffs, the terminal with the holotape still inside. " _This_?"

"Ted," Harkness said, gently as he could, "the people _want_ this. If we're going to keep it from spreading - if we want it to stop - we have to be decisive."

"So we get decisive!" Ted threw up his hands, then let them fall to his sides with a deep frown creasing his face. "I don't see a problem."

"The _problem_ is that we can't let word of the Minutemen putting a stop to a potential way to detect synths get out." They would see the Minutemen as pro-Institute, and the Institute would gladly jump on the bandwagon with their spies and stoke the flames until the Minutemen were hated all across the Commonwealth. And the synths Harkness wanted to help in the process-- "Please. Think about this."

"I have thought about it. I think it's bullshit. I think these absolute _dickblisters_ are torturing people for a fucked-up reason that's not only provably not working to their own batshit insane ends, but also leading to the murder of some of the same quote-unquote 'innocent' people they're supposedly trying to protect--"

"--And if we want to keep other people from getting the same goddamn idea, we have to kill every last person connected to this compound," Harkness cut in.

Ted exhaled hard through his nose; he shot a glance around the room before his glare landed back on Harkness again. With a violent gesture, he brought his power-fist up like he was going to punch Harkness, but instead it was just used to point at him. "Fuck. You. You apologist _asshole._ You'd rather just let shit happen because it isn't happening to you, and it could always be worse, couldn't it?"

For just over a second, Harkness locked up. That feeling he'd thought was so far away-- Ted could break him. Was capable of it. And in that instant, Ted might just have been thinking he deserved it. That declaration of war on something reprehensible, because Harkness was being reprehensible. He _was_. He was being sensible, but he was doing it because he was scared too. The same justification he used for the people in this compound, applied to himself. Ted accepted neither.

These people were using their position of power as scared humans who had a right to be scared to do terrible things. Harkness was using his position of power as a scared synth who happened to be general of the Minutemen to absolve himself of responsibility for these people for the sake of the greater good. Maybe what he was doing wasn't as bad, or was more understandable, or had more justification, but he wasn't thinking about any of that just then. Like that first day, he was scared of Ted deciding that he was worth destroying.

So what came out of his mouth wasn't sensible or thought-out. It was scared, and small. "I'm sorry," he said. He meant it. Not to the people who had been hurt, but to Ted. For being worth that anger.

And Ted lowered his power fist and set his jaw in a firm line, regarding Harkness with a tight frown. Eventually, after a number of seconds that felt like an eternity as Harkness counted them away, he sighed and backed off with a shake of his head. "Look, just. It's not you."

"Right," Harkness said. Ted wasn't being entirely truthful there; it _was_ him. Obviously. At least in part.

"No, I'm serious. It's-- I watched, okay. While people made excuses. It started with the rhetoric, and then the minor human rights violations, and then the major ones. People who had been watching all along, trying to warn everyone else, got shut down by the ones who thought it was more mature to sit firmly in the middle and give everyone a chance. Other times they just got told to stop rocking the boat."

Harkness nodded, not saying anything. He didn't know what to say.

"I know you're scared," Ted continued. By that point he was averting his eyes. "And I didn't mean-- I wasn't yelling at _you_. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. We don't--" here, Ted sucked in a sharp breath to steady himself, "--we don't have to do anything. If you don't want to."

"No," Harkness disagreed. "We do. You're right."

Ted's concerned look was almost too much for Harkness to take. After that flash of anger, he wasn't sure he deserved it. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure if you are." As honest as it got.

"So you're waiting on me to tell you what to do again."

Another slow nod. "Tell me it's possible and I'll believe you."

Ted bubbled up with a nervous laugh. "Christ, you're following _my_ example? I'm just an asshole with too many opinions."

"Ted."

"I know, I know. Just saying. I mean, do you know how easy that would be for me to manipulate? Fuck. I could really screw you up, y'know. Wait, shit, you probably do know that..." Ted trailed off with a frustrated noise and another mumbled _fuck_ , chewing on his lip. "Look. What do you want to do about this? Whatever you say, I'll go with it. No arguing. Promise."

That wasn't something Harkness had given much thought to. And the thought of Ted not arguing-- what was he supposed to do with that? He could do anything, couldn't he? Did Ted know that? "I-- I want." He wanted to do whatever made him good enough to not earn that anger ever again. "I want whatever it is that you--"

"Nonono. Harkness. Listen." Yanking off the power-fist, Ted dropped the ungainly weapon on the desk in favor of putting his hands on Harkness's shoulders and looking him in the eye. "What I want? Doesn't matter. Don't even think about it. This is about what you want to see happen."

"Then..." Not what Ted wanted. Not what was safe. Just what Harkness wanted. "Tell me it's safe. Tell me it's possible."

The frown returned, then eased as it seemed to dawn on him. "You mean that's what you want."

All he needed. He knew what had to be done, had known from the start. But it was daunting, terrifying. "That's all I want."

Another quiet laugh. "Hah. Okay. I, uh..." Ted tried to smile. It wasn't sincere, and there was fear and concern in his eyes, but that wasn't the point. The point was that whatever Ted promised, he'd try his damnedest to make it a reality. And he was so good at doing anything he put his mind to that it would become one. "I'll, uh, I'll keep you safe. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Don't be scared," he said. "You've got this, alright? And if anything goes wrong, you've got me."

Ted clearly didn't believe his own words. But Harkness believed in Ted, and that was enough. He nodded when Ted was finished, leaning in to kiss his human's forehead. Lingering there, with his nose in Ted's hair.

"You good?" Ted asked, softer.

Harkness hummed in response. "I'm good," he said, pulling away. "Let's fix this."

"Okay. Yeah." Ted didn't seem to be following what Harkness was thinking of doing, or perhaps he just hadn't quite caught up to believing he'd changed Harkness's mind. But he picked up his power-fist and followed along anyways, with the same look he'd had when Harkness had said the idea of him being a spy or replacement was impossible.

Harkness still didn't know what it meant, but in the back of his mind, he filed it away in the same folder.

\---

They found more torture rooms. More holotapes, more logs. Ted listened to every one of the tapes, even if one of them pissed him off so much that he punched a hole in the terminal he'd used to play it. There was blood, there were shock batons, there were scraps of dried, foul gore. Harkness was glad that Ted didn't ask or try to speculate about any of the more unique implements that had been used, though; glad he didn't have to explain, because he knew all too well. The Institute couldn't very well use their techniques for reprogramming or reading the minds of synths on human Railroad agents, could they?

But Harkness didn't see any synth components on the shelves or tables, any bits of tech that would attatch to the brain stem and make reprogramming, tracking, and interfacing with synths that much simpler. Certainly he didn't see any specialized courser components that were meant to facilitate travel, but it was entirely possible the Institute had upgraded their tech since his time there. Perhaps their functionality had been integrated into the interface component by then, and the additional chip that was wired up to the nervous system wasn't necessary.

Although from Harkness's understanding of the tech, the limitation in such things had legitimately become a matter of size; it was easier to fit a specialized chip into the back of a Courser's neck than it was to make the individual transistors any smaller than they had been in his time. Indeed, it had become simpler to just make artificial humans that were reprogrammable than it was to try and make ever more complex androids that were capable of competing with the nuances of bioengineered brains.

Oh. He was coming up with his own wandering thought patterns now, wasn't he? But it was working. He wasn't panicking or upset, and the tangents gave the freed up space something to idly work on. The mental equivalent of twiddling, he supposed. Was that why Ted babbled?

Possibly. But Ted wasn't babbling right then. He was quiet, lost in his own head as they progressed through the compound. Not even humming, or whistling, or mumbling to himself. Just, nothing.

They came to a door with light peeking through the gaps in the frame, brighter than the hall and stairwell they'd been ascending through. Ted was wordless as he opened it, with not even the barest hint of a tremor in his hands. There was another small flight of stairs, leading into a cavernous room that held yet more torture implements on tables, and a set of steps leading up to an upper level lined with cages.

And a woman in a lab coat, who approached them with a thinly-veiled sneer, flanked by two guards that were trying their damnedest to look intimidating.

"I hope you two are proud of yourselves for the damage you've done to my operation," she said. "Do you know how many years I--"

Harkness calmly put a bullet between her eyes. This was followed by two more shots in rapid succession to take out the guards to either side of her before they could react. Ted showed no reaction, not even his usual distaste for gore; he simply sidestepped the bodies and entered the room at large, cupping the hand not clad in a power-fist over around his mouth.

"Hello?" he called out to the cages above. "Anyone alive up there?"

There was a faint sniffle. "H-hello?" A small, feminine voice, rough and scared.

Harkness heard Ted mutter a quiet _fuck_ under his breath. "We're gonna get you outta here," he said. "Just hang on, okay?"

"O-okay," the voice replied.

"Don't be afraid," Ted reassured, making a beeline for the nearest terminal. He yanked off his power-fist for the sake of typing unhindered, tossing it onto a nearby table carelessly. The weight of it made a number of torture implements clatter loudly against the table's surface, and Harkness heard a terrified squeak from above at the sound. So did Ted, who immdiately spoke up."Hey, no, shhhhshshh. It'll be okay, right? We're here to help."

"Wh-who are you?"

"I'm Ted. Ted Davies. I'm here with my, uh," a moment's pause as he seemed to consider what to say, "my partner, and we're both Minutemen."

The voice went quiet for a few seconds. "My f-father, he said the Minutemen were gone..."

"Well, you can tell him they're back when you see him again, huh?" Ted's fingers flew over the keys. Harkness was amazed at how he could hold two lines of thought at once. "Where're you from?"

"Bunker Hill...?"

"Hey, nice. I know where that is." A glance at Harkness, and then Ted resumed typing. He was into the command prompt by then, having gotten past security. "Tell you what, how about we get you out of here and I take you home? That sound okay?"

"I--" Another sniffle. "I don't... You'd do that?"

Ted let out a soft _ahah_ as the gates of the cages could all be heard opening in unison, the metal shrieking from disrepair. "Definitely," he said. "Harkness? That okay with you?"

Harkness hesitated slightly. But-- they needed to finish this. Make sure it didn't blow back and hurt the Minutemen, or hurt anyone else in the process. It was what had to be done. They had to be thorough, or else it would just get worse--

"Hey." A few steps forward and Ted was back in his space, taking one of his hands and squeezing it. "We can do this." The man offered a smile. "C'mon. What's the plan?"

A plan. He could do plans. Harkness returned the squeeze as well as the smile, even if he wasn't terribly good at the latter if he was doing it on purpose. Ted would understand. He always did. "Do you know the way to Bunker Hill?"

"I have a map, y'know."

"Right." Harkness took off his coat, handing it over; Ted took it with a slightly awestruck expression. "Take this, and get her home. I'll handle Covenant."

Ted managed a smirk. Not quite the same as his usual one, but it was something. "Sure you've got enough bullets?"

"I'm sure."

"Okay." After a brief pause, Ted hooked the coat over one shoulder so that he could get at his backpack. From there, he pulled out the stealth boy and pressed it into Harkness's hands. "Be safe, alright? I worry about you."

"I know." Ted worried about everyone. But even Harkness knew that wasn't really the point of the statement. "Meet me back at Taffington when you're done if you can. If you can't, let me know. Bunker Hill is a trading post, so they should have enough couriers to be able to spare one for--"

Ted interrupted him with a kiss. A quick one, but a kiss all the same. Dropped back down from being on tiptoe to do it with a wry grin. "Now who's worrying?" he teased. "You just get out there and go all terrifying stealthy avenging angel of death on those bastards. I can handle this."

Harkness let out a slow breath, nodding. And after giving him a last smile and a pat on the cheek, Ted headed up the stairs to go take care of his latest charge, reassuring her in gentle tones that it'd all be okay. Just like he did with Harkness. A good man, who helped anyone that needed it. The least Harkness could do for him was finish doing the right thing in his stead, when there were too many things to be done for one man to do all of them alone.

Because Ted was stepping in and doing the human things Harkness was bad at. So really, it was only fair.

 


	18. ii: moon-sword song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUYS WHAT'S UP I POUNDED THIS ONE OUT REAL QUICK DIDN'T I
> 
> I'm sure all of us have felt like Ted does right now at some point. Treat at the end in the second author's note! At least for those of us who consider such a thing a treat. o3o

Under the grit and blood and bruising, Amelia Stockton was a pretty little thing. She had a heart-shaped face, round eyes, a cute mouth. Ted wasn't experienced enough to be able to tell whether she was a manufactured sort of pretty or not, but he still waited with her until the stimpaks worked, urging her through two bottles of clean water and draping Harkness's coat over her delicate shoulders.

It mattered, as much as he wished it didn't. Not for the reasons people thought, but it still did. If she was a synth, was she a runaway? An Institute plant? If the latter, then the Institute was doing a shit job of protecting their assets. If the former, then the people helping runaways were doing a shit job of protecting their charges. Ted knew someone had to be helping from the holotape almost a couple of months back, from how Harkness sometimes mentioned secret signs and code words.

But Harkness never told him anything about just who it was that was doing the helping, and Ted would be lying if he said he wasn't just a teensy bit annoyed about that.

"I'm not a synth," she mumbled. Her hands were trembling as she held the bottle of water close to her chest.

He smiled reassuringly and clasped her shoulder, making sure to stay fully in view the whole time. "It's okay. I believe you." Believed that she didn't know what she was, if she was a synth at all. Believed that she thought she was telling the truth. Christ, the poor kid.

"I have a father. I had a mother. I'm not--" she cut herself off with a sniffle, rubbing at her face. "I'm not a synth. I'm _not_."

Ted nodded, not saying anything. Rubbing her back in gentle circles. He'd get her home either way. Synth, human, it was the right thing to do regardless. But if she _was_ a synth, that meant something was very wrong. He doubted the Institute would be that careless, leave a hole that big in their deliberate operations. From what he'd heard, they didn't seem like the kind of people to allow that. Which meant that if she was a synth, she was probably a runaway-- a runaway with no knowledge of being a synth at all. Odd, but he'd let it slide. Wasn't the point.

What was the point, then? Easy: the people trying to help runaways had a problem. A big goddamn problem, if they couldn't protect their people after the fact. And that lined up pretty well with the thing back at Bedford Station, where even the first stages of getting synths away from the Institute could get people very dead. They were hunted as much as the synths were. Afraid, as much as the synths were. Like the whole operation was hanging by a thread anyways.

Yet they still tried, because freedom was worth that much.

Ted sighed and heaved himself up to stand, stretching and popping his shoulders. Amelia's cell was small, too small for two adults to sit in for long periods of time. "Alright, what's your shoe size?" he asked her.

She blinked at him owlishly. "Um...?"

"Right, dumb question. Nevermind." He swung around and put one of his feet up next to hers, so close that she flinched. Rolling his eyes, he scooted close again. "I'm comparing. One sec, alright?"

"Comparing?"

"Yeah. You'll need shoes out there. It's been snowing."

She tugged the coat a little tighter around her shoulders. "Oh."

He hummed, then held out his hand to her. "Can you stand yet?"

"I-- I think so." A little wobbly, but she managed. Not that much shorter than him. More torso than leg. Smaller feet, too.

He could work with that. "Alright. Gimme a couple minutes and I'll get you something to wear, okay?" He'd seen a trunk downstairs. Maybe he could peel some combat armor off the dead goons while he was at it. "I'll be right downstairs. Want me to keep talking so you know where I am?"

She eased back down to sit again. "Uhm. That would be... Nice. Yes. Thank you."

"Cool. Can do." He dusted himself off and headed out of the cell so he could make his way downstairs (no guardrails, Jesus, had no one heard of safety regulations?). "Anything you're interested in or am I just making it up as I go?"

"Anything is fine."

"Okay. So I'm winging it. Alright. I can do that. Did you know birds are dinosaurs?"

"What's a dinosaur?"

This was going to be an interesting evening.

\---

"--but when they actually _looked_ at the fossil record, they found that there were hardly any dinosaur bones at all in the layers left behind by the asteroid."

"So they were already dead?"

"Exactly! And there was this huge fight in the scientific community because we've been thinking for like, _years_ that this asteroid impact near the Yucatan peninsula was the source of the extinction. That shit was in textbooks, man. So everyone's spitballing ideas about what else it could've been and then this one geologist woman, I forget her name, is over in India looking into the Deccan Plateau - which covers about, uh, _most_ of southern India - and she realizes, hey, these rocks are volcanic, and they match the same time period as the last moments of the dinosaurs, _so_ \--"

"--so it was a volcano!"

"Yep!"

Amelia shuffled through the snow with a thoughtful hum. Her gait off and she couldn't lift her feet very far, but as long as Ted took it slow and let her have breaks when she needed to, she could keep up. "It would have to be a terribly large volcano, wouldn't it? I mean, to kill _everything_. Most volcanoes I've read about in Father's books were local. The people were free to just leave and they'd be fine." She paused. "Not that they ever left right away. Otherwise it wouldn't be a very good book. The adventurer wouldn't have anything to do."

"Well, alright. Lemme put it in perspective. You know what nuclear winter is, right?"

"Mmhm."

"Lasts for about, oh. Maybe five, ten years with like, the full might of all the nuclear arsenals in all the world. That's not counting the lingering atmospheric effects of fallout and radioactivity and all that shit."

"I suppose."

"Well, the great big lava flows they found in India were anywhere from sixty-one million to sixty-eight million years old. Which means the eruptions were happening off-and-on for seven _million_ years. And there was enough lava to cover, oh..." A little head-math was needed. "Eighteen hundred Bostons or so. I think."

"Goodness!"

"So that's a lot of nuclear winter, considering how the lava isn't the only thing volcanoes tend to spit out when they explode."

"And then the crops would die--"

"--well, plants--"

"--then the things that eat them, then the things that eat _those_ things." Amelia shuddered. "Ghouls come through the Hill sometimes, traders mostly. Ones that remember. Did you know that the plants all turned red after the bombs fell?"

"I can see how that might happen." Ted had seen his fair share of footage from the days and weeks after various meltdowns. "So, yeah, you get the picture. We're a drop in the bucket compared to Nature's own reset buttons. Not that it gives us a license to fuck up as badly as we did, but still."

"Father thinks it's morbid to talk about it."

"Yeah, well." Ted picked up the pace a moment, enough to bend down and disarm a frag mine he saw up ahead of them. Thought they could sneak up on him by hiding it in an old car, hah! Little did they know, he knew better than to blindly trust a bridge to not be covered in traps these days. "I bet your dad thinks a lot of things."

Amelia hid a snicker behind her hand, the sleeve of Harkness's coat covering her almost up to her knuckles. When she'd turned the collar it had covered her nose, so she'd settled for a ragged scarf Ted had found in the trunk full of prisoners' things back at the compound instead. It was a musty thing, colored a stained and ugly pink that clashed badly with the dark coat, but it did the job. "Don't let him hear you say that."

"What can I say? I don't do so well with authority." Unless that authority was Harkness, and even then it was kind of iffy at best. "It's one of my better qualities."

Her pretty little nose crinkled, and she shoved at him. "Says you."

Ted took it in stride with nary a stumble, turning on his heel and walking backwards for a moment with hands outstretched. One hand was holding a mine, of course, but the mine was disarmed. "My dear lady, you wound me."

"You're terrible," she told him, but her tone was teasing and she was smiling. Ted was glad he'd been able to get her to smile. She had a nice smile. How could anyone hurt a girl like that? Seriously. A person would have to be downright soulless.

So he bowed in an exaggerated way and said, "the absolute worst, madam," and laughed when it got a snowball thrown at him.

\---

Bunker Hill was not the same as he remembered.

Oh, the monument was still there. And there were only like, two holes in it. But there were these _walls_ all around it, and shacks built up all around it, and the gates where the front steps were had a frowny lady with a shotgun.

"Caravan or courier?" she asked.

Ted was in the process of helping Amelia up the steps, but things like that had never stopped him from being a smartass. "Tourist," he answered easily. "Came here to see the sights, y'know."

"Uh-huh. Sure." The shotgun was lowered anyway. "And you?" she asked of Amelia, peering at the girl closely.

Amelia looked up from watching where she was planting her feet and smiled, offering a wave. "Hello, Kessler."

The woman blinked, then squinted, and not long after that her eyes went wide as saucers. "My God," she mumbled, then she took a few steps back to grab a passing caravan hand by the collar and bark at them, "get Stockton. _Now_."

"And some blankets!" Ted called after them, but the woman fixed him with a piercing look that had him holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Right, sorry, it's your show."

She rolled her eyes and caught another passer-by to growl at them to get blankets and something hot ready as soon as possible, shooting a dark glare at Ted afterward. He merely shrugged at her and resumed his task of easing Amelia's way up the steps.

By the time she'd gotten there - the stimpaks might've healed her broken knee along with all the cuts and bruises and whatnot, but she was still sore and stiff - people were waiting with blankets, coffee, even a folding chair. Ted fell away from them, let them surround her and fuss over her. She greeted them by name, smiling broader and more openly as more and more gathered.

She only stood for one of them, an old, pudgy man in a dingy brown suit and hat. He took off his hat, revealing his balding head; tears were shining in his eyes. She bubbled up with a laugh and hugged him, and he held onto her like he never wanted to let go. It wasn't hard for Ted to put two and two together.

"So you're her father?" he asked.

The old man looked up and frowned at him suspiciously. "Who are you?"

"I found her. _We_ found her. Me and my partner." Ted figured that was vague enough to not have to elaborate. "We're with the Minutemen. We were out on patrol when we found the compound."

Kessler narrowed her eyes. A murmur passed through the gathered crowd. "The Minutemen?"

"A new faction up north. It's okay, I'm not here to do any recruitment or anything." He stood up a little straighter and continued, "quick question, before I go on. You people ever heard of Covenant?"

The old man nodded. His lips were set in a thin, grim line. "We've heard of it, yes."

"Well, they were torturing people. Picking them out at random, putting them through hell, doing experiments, then killing them." Amelia flinched, and Ted figured that was enough detail for the moment. "They said it was for science, but in reality, they couldn't keep their settlement afloat. They were pretty much bleeding money, so they were supplementing it with whatever they could get off of the people they kidnapped. It was all over their terminals down there."

Another hushed wave of conversation passed through the crowd. They weren't sure whether to believe him or not. But he'd brought Amelia back, and that made him sound that much more credible. Only Stockton was still looking at him with real suspicion, but Ted had a feeling it was for different reasons altogether.

Ted listened, let them talk for a moment. Let them speculate. Waited for them to trail off before speaking again. "My partner and I split up for now; he's seeing to it that the Minutemen know to take care of it, so they won't be a problem for you or anyone else for much longer. But for now, people should steer clear of Covenant until we can know for sure that it's secure."

"You're sure the Minutemen can handle this?" Kessler asked with clear distaste.

"We can handle it." Harkness could, definitely. "We'll let you know by courier when it's safe, and your people can take it from there. Until then, get the word out not to go anywhere near Covenant if they can help it."

That would give Harkness time to clear the evidence. And if anyone did see anything, their word would be overruled by the popular opinion that Covenant was full of monsters. As much as Ted hated to manipulate people like this, it was necessary. Harkness was right; public opinion was against synths. This couldn't get out. It made Ted feel ill just thinking about it, but he'd seen the alternatives play out before. This was an old song and dance, with well-worn steps and an uncomfortably familiar tune.

He thought of the riots. The rubber bullets, the chemical warfare, the water cannons, the questionably legal deterrents that had preceded the outright massacres towards the end. Guides, pamphlets passed around, telling people to stay safe, here's how. Newsreels in the following days highlighting simple protections spoken of in those pamphlets and turning them into symbols of anarchy and treasonous behavior. Simple common-sense notions turned into buzzwords by enraged pundits.

Before, even if there wasn't time for it, he'd always wondered whether he could've done more. There had always been that guilt, even when doing more wasn't safe, or when he was doing all he possibly could even if it wasn't safe at all-- he should've done more. Spoken up more often, changed more minds, stood against the tide. He'd put it off, thinking if he was stronger, if he had more pull, if he was in a better position--

Well. He was in a better position now, wasn't he? It was the end of the fucking world. He had his mind, and Harkness's strength and pull. They could do something. This was them, throwing the tear gas canister back at the wall of riot shields. This was them, barging into a restaurant to get milk for the chemical burn victims. This was them, filming the cops.

This was him. Handing out pamphlets on staying safe, advising people against believing the well-groomed white guys with the suspiciously bulky tires and sturdy shoes. While his boyfriend beat the shit out of human supremecists.

He took a deep breath, and let it out nice and slow; the cold evening air frosted in front of his face. It couldn't have been later than six o'clock, if that, but it was far enough below freezing to nip at his nose and ears, to dry out his lips and mouth. Still, he probably had time before he needed to get going. If all else failed, he could send a courier so Harkness wouldn't worry. Well, so he'd worry less. Big ol' softie.

Now if only he could be as sure of himself as Harkness was of him, that'd be great.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so here's a by-no-means comprehensive RIOT SAFETY LIST for when your protest goes up shit creek without a paddle:
> 
> 1\. Wear protection. Glasses don't count, goggles do. Something over your nose and mouth too. Cover as much skin as possible. While helping to protect from shit like tear gas (and as a side note: don't wear anything you don't feel comfortable with discarding later, because tear gas is some stubbornly sticky shit), this also helps to hide your identity in the event of pictures getting circulated on the news; you don't want to get ostracized by your family or fired from your job.  
> 2\. Don't trust ANYONE who tries to incite peaceful protesters into violence. Especially if they have hardass workboots or a car that has protected tires, especially-especially if they're a well-dressed white dude. Cops do this a lot to have an excuse to start a fight.  
> 3\. I found a bunch of links for tear gas safety! https://www.indybay.org/newsitems/2011/10/26/18695225.php and https://www.thoughtco.com/what-to-do-if-exposed-to-tear-gas-604104 and https://newssafety.org/safety/advisories/protecting-yourself-from-tear-gas and FYI, there's some conflicting shit in there, but all of these seem to be legit links. (I found some that really, really weren't. There was some outright trolling.)   
> 4\. Be careful when you punch nazis! First of all, the human jaw is like, really solid, so make sure to go for like, the nose or the orbital bone or the cheek instead if you're going for the face. Second, when you punch them, thumb OVER knuckles instead of tucked inside. Inside will break your hand. Third? The nazis might be armed, and sometimes they tape razors to the undersides of their hate symbols that they put up everywhere so be careful when dealing with them or their symbols. Oh, and I'll note again the importance of keeping your identity hidden, because you don't want to get doxxed, okay? Safety first!  
> 5\. Know your rights. You're legally allowed to film cops as long as you aren't obstructing what they're doing and you keep some distance. You're also legally allowed to have a lawyer whether you've done anything or not. Don't tell the cops ANYTHING. Just ask for a lawyer. They'll try to bully you if you get taken into custody. Don't let them. Here's a link from Teen Vogue of all places that looks to be a pretty legit guide: https://www.teenvogue.com/story/know-your-rights-if-you-get-arrested
> 
> Stay safe kids! I love all of you.


	19. 17: our home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HARKNESS IS WEAK TO CUTE THINGS. I know the cat ingame isn't a calico but I figure since the cats ingame are ALL variations on "grey tabby" that it's not the biggest transgression I've made on the ingame details. I also know that it's impossible to fix up Taffington without mods, but considering fixing existing shit when its bones are solid is probably way easier than building shit from scratch in-universe, I'mma go with it. 
> 
> It's not explicitly detailed, but Harkness is definitely the little spoon. ACTUAL PLOT COMES NEXT.

The violence didn't really bother Harkness. Blood standing out starkly on the snow, staining glittering white with deep red, yet he couldn't care less about the spectacle of it. These people had signed their own death warrants. Not a one of them could be allowed to live if the Commonwealth was to continue on its course. Harkness had seen the terminals; all were guilty in one way or another, complicit.

It was a well-kept settlement, tidy and nicely lit, with high walls all around and surfaces that were still level and shiny everywhere one looked. The dissonance of it would bother Ted, he was certain. Brains smeared across perfectly preserved rugs and polished countertops would give his little human nightmares, because that level of acceptably pre-war cleanliness reminded Ted of home, and home was meant to be peaceful. But it had to be done. Harkness knew that Ted agreed on principle. Incarceration and rehabilitation were luxuries they didn't yet have the capacity to provide, and in the meantime, bad things still happened that needed to not happen for people to be safe.

But the cat. It walked up to Harkness, rubbed his leg. Licked at a corpse's fingers and mewed. Its fur was nice, well-groomed, free of visible disease or parasites. The cat didn't agree to any of this. And now it wouldn't have anyone to take care of it, would it?

Pulling a jacket off of a nearby coat rack, Harkness leaned down and wrapped the cat up to take it with him. It complained (as cats do) but it was a sheltered, fat little thing, and apparently it didn't feel like scratching him. No, hang on. It was fighting him. It just didn't have claws.

Bastards had declawed their cat.

Harkness didn't let go of it until he got to Taffington, and even there, he was careful to shut all the doors behind him (and even close the windows upstairs) before he did so. This was not a cat that should be allowed to roam the Commonwealth. Ted would probably get on his case later for bringing it back with him, but he didn't care. He was responsible for it by that point. Already thinking of how to keep it safe, about diverting some of the daily patrol routes to Taffington and making it the cat's permanent home. Leaving written instructions to check on it. That was enough for cats, right?

Easing himself down onto a couch with a bottle of clean water, Harkness wondered how the hell one was supposed to even take care of a cat. Feed it, sure. Make sure it has water. Give it somewhere to take a shit occasionally. But that was all basic. Dogs, those were easy. Simple. His dog wasn't his so much as it was really Sanctuary's dog, even if it slept on top of his feet more than anyone else's, but he still had enough experience to know the animal was straightforward with what it wanted. And it listened. Kind of.

But cats, they were different. (The cat demonstrated this by hopping up onto the back of the couch and proceeding to chew on his hair. Why was it doing that? He didn't know. Maybe his hair tasted good. Did cats think hair tasted good?) Harkness wasn't good with knowing what cats wanted. They were never clear with their intentions except for "pleased" or "displeased". He was worse about reading them than he was about reading people.

He tipped his head back to try and get a look at the cat, and it went for the hair on the top of his head. "Can you keep from hurting yourself if I go to take a shower?"

The cat gave him a rather flat look before resuming what was possibly an attempt at licking his hair off of his scalp.

"Right. This isn't working." He stood up from the couch and it blinked at him like it was offended. "What. Don't give me that."

"Mrrrf," it told him.

"You were trying to eat my hair."

It ignored him in favor of slipping down to where he'd been sitting on the couch, kneading at the cushion, and plopping down in the exact same spot he'd been in a few moments prior. This was the point where Harkness realized he wasn't getting anywhere.

"I'm going to go take a shower," he said. Then he pointed to the couch. "Stay."

The cat didn't respond. Unless purring counted as responding, but he was pretty sure it'd just stopped paying attention to him completely. And, fine, whatever. He was okay with that. This wasn't some kind of battle that he had to win. It was just a cat. No, wait. Better to think of it as a particularly beligerent citizen of the Commonwealth. Just another thing he and the Minutemen had to protect whether it liked it or not.

After frowning at it for several seconds, Harkness gave up on trying to understand its motives and went upstairs to try and get the blood out from under his nails.

\---

If the walls and pipes and roof hadn't been repaired (and if they hadn't put in space heaters throughout the house), Harkness would probably be freezing his ass off. As it was, it was still cold - a chilly fifty-six degrees fahrenheit - so he was quick to dry off once he was clean.

Taffington was one of his preferred settlements, honestly. Its position on the water made it defensible, and its second floor's windows provided excellent lookout positions and sniper nests. There was only one truly viable approach (from the front), and Ted's turrets had an unobstructed view of any would-be attackers. It was safe-- just the way Harkness liked things. And being safe opened it up for being made into something civilized. The running water had just been the start; power, lights, a couple of decent beds, a living room, a working kitchen. Sure, there wasn't room for more than a couple of people at a time, but it was something.

And now it had a cat. A cat that couldn't hunt for shit, but still a cat. That had to be a mark of... Something.

"Why are you licking my feet?" he asked the cat. The cat paused in its activities to stare at him incredulously. "Don't give me that look. You were the one licking my feet." His clean feet. There was nothing on them to lick. Was the cat brain-damaged?

Both of them perked up at the sound of a door opening and slamming shut downstairs, along with heavy boots on the hardwood floor. "Harkness?"

"Up here," Harkness replied.

"Alright, cool." A pause, followed by those same footsteps wandering into the kitchen and something that sounded like a heavily loaded bag being set down on the dining table. "Brought food. Courtesy of Bunker Hill."

"Clean?"

"Yep. It's some kinda roasted thing? With carrots and silt beans."

That sounded promising. "I'll be down in a bit."

"Okay." Harkness was halfway through putting on an undershirt when Ted spoke up again. "Hey, Harkness?"

"What is it?" A little muffled, because shirt, but it was Ted. Of course he'd respond even if distracted.

A few seconds passed, then: "What's the Railroad?"

Harkness froze. Locked up completely for an instant. When he caught back up, his voice was a lot steadier than his thoughts were. "Let me get dressed, then I'll be right down."

"You could stay undressed. --I'm kidding."

At least if he was joking around, he wasn't too pissed off. Too bad Harkness couldn't appreciate the joke when he was trying not to panic. It was all he could do to just focus on getting the rest of his clothes on. If Ted knew, that meant that Ted knew Harkness had been hiding it from him.

Today just wasn't a good day.

\---

"Food first," Ted insisted when he got downstairs. Harkness grudgingly complied, even if he didn't particularly want to. They sat at the table across from one another, and while Harkness couldn't tell whether the distance was a comfortable one or not for Ted he did know that for his part, he'd gotten used to being near the man and missed their closeness.

Meanwhile, Ted had found the cat. He had also promptly picked up the cat, which was surprising. The cat did not like this and showed its displeasure by shoving at him with its paws and complaining, but that just made Ted laugh. Then he flipped the cat on its back and cradled it like a baby with one arm while he pressed at its paw-pads with his free hand, massaging them; the cat responded by jerking away and trying to bite his hand.

"Aww, don't be mean," he told it. "Where'd you find her?"

"Her?"

"Yeah. Calico cats usually are, but even beyond that it's kinda obvious if you know what you're looking for." He moved to rub the cat's belly and it responded by kicking at him. "You're so mean! I jus' wanna rub your tummy, jeez."

"I found it at Covenant. Couldn't just leave it there."

Ted broke into a grin. "Aw, that's so cute. You're such a softie, babe."

Harkness didn't dignify that with an answer. "They declawed it," he said instead. "It couldn't very well take care of itself."

"Yeah, noticed that." Ted finally relented and let the struggling cat go, and it hopped down to clean itself like he'd somehow soiled its fur. "Well, there's a vet in Bunker Hill. We can take her over later if you like."

"Curie can handle it."

"I'm sure she could, but she's working overtime trying to get people vaccinated." There was an unusual sharpness to Ted's tone, one he seemed to only realize was there after he'd spoken; it was in the way he blinked for a second before flinching away as if at his own words. "Sorry. It's-- it's been a long day. I'm tired."

Harkness looked down at his food, and then across the table at Ted, before finally setting his spoon down and pushing his bowl aside. He could eat later. This was more important. "Ted."

"What."

"I can't fix anything if you don't tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong. I'm fine." Harkness had never said he wasn't. "And anyway, why didn't you tell me about the Railroad? We could've been doing something this whole time--"

"We can't help them if we don't have a solid base of operations," Harkness said firmly. "I didn't tell you because I knew you would want to go, and we don't have anything concrete to offer them yet."

"Oh." Ted's brow furrowed for a second. "What do you mean by that?"

"Safehouses. People. Protection. If we make a stand for the Railroad it has to be something decisive, something that will actually help. We can't just walk up to the front door and say we're there to give them whatever we can in our spare time. They've got enough of that as it is. Always have." It was why he'd done most of the work himself when it came to his own freedom. The Railroad's holes were too easily exploited and always had been. "They need an ally, and I've got a plan to give them one. Just not yet."

"I-- okay." The tension in Ted's posture melted away, and he sagged in his chair. "And you didn't tell me because...?"

"You would join them." The chance of that not happening was so remote that Harkness didn't even consider it to be a factor. Ted would want to join the Railroad. That was the kind of person he was. "And being with them that openly would paint a target on your back that I can't do anything about right now. The Institute definitely knows we're together, and if I'm not in a secure enough position myself, then they'd use me to get to you. I can't allow that."

Ted laughed. It sounded almost helpless. "Christ. You're as bad as me."

"You love it," Harkness guessed.

And when Ted smiled, he couldn't help feeling relieved that he'd guessed well. "God, I really do," was the reply. "I mean, it's a little hard to believe that anyone could care about me that much, but... Yeah. I can't say I don't appreciate it, y'know?"

"I don't think it's hard to believe at all."

"Hah. Okay, well. Hard for _me_ to believe." Ted folded his arms on the table and curled up to rest his head on them with a thoughtful hum. "So. Another question. What's the deal with synths that don't know they're synths?"

"Freed by the Railroad in almost all cases. Popular opinion would have you believe that they're Institute sleeper agents, but the Institute never plants human memories in synths. They don't like having that little control over the situation, and they definitely don't think synths should have that level of agency."

"Almost?"

Harkness smirked. "The Railroad didn't have to help me that much. I went through my own channels."

"You--" Ted gawked at him for a moment as the proverbial wheels turned. "You didn't know you were a synth?"

"I didn't. I was just Adam Harkness, chief of Rivet City security. Thought I had the same story you did. Well, kind of. They told me I'd just come out of cryo. Didn't remember signing up for that, but I did remember going in for some kind of brain scan for a... A simulation, I think. Anchorage. At the time I remembered having just been through a divorce, so I chalked the holes up to stress and side effects of cryo."

"Dude!" Ted was grinning from ear to ear. "That's awesome. Holy shit. You remember Anchorage?"

"Kind of? It isn't as sharp as my memories tend to be. I don't tend to dig into the pre-war files as often as I used to."

"That's so cool. Hot damn. I mean it's not, y'know. _That_ great. PTSD and all that. But like, the science of it?" This time when Ted laughed, it sounded much more genuine. He leaned back in his chair to regard Harkness with newfound appreciation. "So how'd you figure out that you were an android?"

"System restore. The old man who did the memory transfer set it up. I didn't know about it at the time, he just did it anyway. Piggybacked off of the old recall code protocols that the Institute put in. This greaser punk found out about it and decided to try it out. Wasn't even thinking about fact that most synths who go for memory wipes are looking to _avoid_ their trauma."

"Jesus. That... Sounds unpleasant."

"Yeah." But Harkness had forgiven Butch for doing it a long time ago. "He had a point though. The Institute was onto me by then. Just hiding wasn't going to be enough. So I left."

"How long ago was this?"

"A little less than ten years." The story was more complicated than that, but Harkness didn't feel like going into it. Didn't think it mattered anymore. He'd wandered up and down the east coast for years, trying to put everything behind him, and in the end he'd just come back to where it all started anyway.

"Huh." Ted settled back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. He at least seemed to have learned his lesson about tipping the chair itself back, because he stopped the moment he caught himself doing it. "So you _do_ have a first name."

"It's not mine," Harkness said. "It belongs to someone who died a long time ago."

"Okay. I can respect that." After a moment, Ted pushed himself up from his chair and walked around the table to give Harkness a kiss on the top of his head. A rare thing, considering their respective heights. "Thank you for telling me."

Leaning back into the contact, Harkness felt himself smile. It had been a lot easier than he'd thought it would be. Helped that Ted hadn't gotten mad at him. "You asked."

"Doesn't mean you had to tell me." Ted's hands were warm on his shoulders, massaging them gently. "I'm gonna wash up, okay? You finish eating, then when we're both done we'll get physical therapy over with. Alright?"

"I was hoping you'd forget about that," Harkness admitted.

Ted chuckled. "Yeah, no. Nice try, babe."

It wasn't until they were in bed and Harkness was halfway to falling asleep (with the cat curled up on the pillow on top of his head, naturally) that he realized Ted had very neatly deflected his attempt at helping, and that he'd lost his chance to ask what was wrong.

 


	20. 18: secret maneuvers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot plot plot plot
> 
> The story's finally moving again! CASTLE SOON! /gargling noises

Ted woke up puffy-faced and so congested his nose was dripping, and blearily told Harkness to shut up. Apparently, even though Ted himself had no problems with the cat, his allergies most certainly did.

"I wasn't saying anything," Harkness noted.

"You're smiling," Ted shot back, and Harkness had to concede that he wasn't wrong.

They left after breakfast with the cat wrapped up in the same coat Harkness had brought it in the night before, and it yowled all the way to Sanctuary. Naturally. It would stop for a bit whenever Harkness took it out of the coat and held it properly, but eventually it would try to struggle and get down and he'd have to wrap it back up again. Along the way, this happened three times. Ted was more amused by this than Harkness was.

"Hate to say it, babe," Ted sighed, "but you kinda brought this on yourself."

He was right, but Harkness wasn't about to admit that.

Either way, when they got to Sanctuary, Harkness was downright relieved when Lucy took one look at him, gasped, and promptly took the cat off of his hands. He wasn't holding her right, the poor thing, she looked so cold, had the big bad General been mean to her? Harkness wasn't even given a chance to speak up on his own behalf, because she glared him into silence and took the cat away with a huff, and left him by the bridge with Ted (who was trying and failing to keep his amusement at Harkness's expense relatively subtle).

Whatever. They had work to do. Even if Ted had agreed not to go to the Railroad until Harkness said it was strategically viable to offer themselves up as an ally, that still meant that they needed to work on having something to offer to begin with. For Ted, that meant dealing with the Mechanist; stopping the attacks, repurposing the robots and parts to work for the Minutemen. For Harkness, it meant working on a strategy above and beyond what was needed to retake the Castle. Retaking it just was step one.

By dinner, he was sitting down with Preston, Sturges, Ted, Marcy, and Curie in a strategy meeting in the living space of the main building, a pair of space heaters on full blast to ward off the chill.

"We have five hundred caps a week coming in from Sunshine Tidings," Preston said. "Give or take about a hundred depending on how well business is doing. The percentage tax is going over a lot better than the flat payments to use the space did."

Ted nodded slowly to himself - another of his ideas - as Harkness replied, "I thought it might. That should be more than enough to handle ammunition, then." With some to spare. "And the vaccinations?"

"They are proceeding even better than I could have hoped," Curie told him. "My records indicate that there is a tremendous improvement compared to vaccination rates before the war. There is a great amount of enthusiasm for them so far."

"We've got people coming in from settlements that weren't even on our radar just because they heard we've got a way to keep people from getting sick," Preston explained. "County Crossing, the Finch farm. Even Greentop Nursery sent somebody out to Tenpines the other day asking about it."

Curie bobbed in midair, two of her arms clicking together in a gesture akin to clasping one's hands. "At this rate I may need assistance in synthesizing more. It is a good problem to have."

Harkness couldn't agree more. "How are we doing with upgrades to existing structures?"

"So far, we've fixed up every place we got with power and water, and everything's as winterized as I can get it," Sturges said. "I'd like to get to buildin' more, but folks need more'n just shacks."

"More?"

"Well, sure. We'd need stuff t'do it with though. Like concrete. And I ain't talkin' like just a couple bags of it, I mean a lot. We got steel up to our eyeballs right now from scrap, and wood ain't so much of a problem now that we've got a handle on fiberboard--" another of Ted's ideas, aided in its fabrication by his robots, "--but you can't exactly build a foundation outta that shit."

This was definitely not Harkness's area. "So how do we get it?"

"A quarry," Ted suggested. "Thicket Excavations would be good for it if we could drain it. Might have to wait 'til things thaw out, though. Until then, we reuse or recycle old cinderblocks, hold onto whatever sacks of pre-war cement we can find, keep an eye out for traders who might have a lead on sources for shipments, and draw up potential designs for new builds for when spring rolls around."

"With that much, could we make the new builds themselves out of concrete?"

Ted blinked, tipping his chair back and rocking it to and fro idly as he considered. "I guess? It'd be a lot of work, like. It'd be heavy as all fuck. But I mean, yeah? Maybe? You'd have to do the pouring on-site though. And I don't think people will wanna do that kind of back-breaking work for free."

"We can handle paying people for their work." What they weren't so good at handling was some dumbfuck raider strolling up to one of their grubby collections of rickety shacks with a missile launcher. "Marcy, what's the word from our patrols near the Castle?"

"There's some raiders up near the approach, but they won't go near the Castle itself, the cowards. As far as most of the men can tell, the colder it gets, the less active the mirelurks get. So our best chance is probably gonna be at night, on a night where it's gonna get cold." Marcy folded her arms and settled back in her chair. "Personally, I think we're gonna have more of a problem with Rust Devils than mirelurks."

"Rust Devils?"

"The gang that's been picking up bits of Mechanist robots and repurposing them. They've got Assaultrons now. Sometimes they even have Assaultrons with working lasers. One of the older guys out on patrol found that out the hard way, poor bastard." She sighed. "A courier even said she spotted a modded Sentry, but we haven't had any other confirmed reports of those from anyone else."

"Any idea where they're coming from?"

Ted held up his hand. "I can check it out if you get me one of their robots. Since the Mechanist bots so far have been getting their orders from central Robobrains with the signal bounced off of Eyebots for individual patrols that are farther afield, I'm guessing these raiders have to be doing something similar. So, we trace that signal and we'll find the main hub."

"Sounds good. Once you've got a lead on them, give the word and we'll send in a--"

"Oh, I'm going in myself." Smirking, Ted tipped his chair back precariously but managed to not quite tip it far enough to fall. "They're not the only ones with an Assaultron or two that has a working laser. I'm pretty sure Hot Momma would win, though. She has missile launcher hands."

Harkness let out a long, tired sigh. "Sturges?"

The mechanic was grinning from ear to ear; next to him, Preston sank in his chair and looked at anything but the man beside him. "Yeah, boss?"

"Didn't I tell you not to let Ted name things?"

Sturges spread his hands out in a placating gesture. "And I ain't been."

"I told him not to," Preston grumbled; to his other side, Marcy snort-giggled.

Harkness decided at that point that he was the only adult at the table.

\---

Once again, Harkness and Ted were pulled apart. But this time, Harkness was a bit more alright with it. Curie wasn't stealthy, but she filled the void nicely with her babbling as they went from settlement to settlement to give out vaccinations, check supply lines, make sure everyone was well-stocked for the rest of the winter... That kind of thing. But they were efficient enough and the Minutemen had been vigilant enough that there wasn't much to do that wasn't already being done by the time they got there except for the things that only Curie could do.

"It is very good that you are here, Monsieur Harkness," she told him as they were on their way out of Hangman's Alley. "I have found that sometimes it is hard for me to get people to take me seriously and allow me to work with them on my own."

"They have their reasons. Most robots out here in the Commonwealth aren't friendly." And that wasn't even getting into how unfriendly most of the old, obviously-a-robot synths were. "It doesn't have anything to do with you. Just them and their fear. Don't take it personally."

"Oh! You misunderstand. It an inconvenience only. I do not take offense." She floated along next to him with the contents of the packs Ted had tied to her jingling faintly; they'd made a stop at Sunshine Tidings earlier in the day before they'd diverted to Greygarden and headed to Oberland from there, and the extra water they'd traded while there had earned them a decent sum of caps. "My concern is simply that someone could refuse treatment and do themselves harm in the process. Your presence eases a significant burden in that when people see me accompanied by someone, they seem significantly less likely to do such a thing."

All because they thought Harkness was human, but he didn't say that aloud. Downtown there were a lot more crows and a lot fewer places where they could place turrets to get rid of them. "Happy to help," he told her instead. "But for the record, next time someone does that? Let me know."

"Of course," she said. Then, "I notice that you have not eaten in some time, yes? Not since you have last taken your medication."

Trust a robot not to forget. She was worse than Ted when it came to fussing over him. "Can it wait?" he asked. "Hangman's Alley doesn't have quite the supplies for feeding extra mouths yet."

"But you simply must eat," she insisted. "Is there nowhere else we can go?"

Harkness sighed tiredly. Yes. There was. "I'd rather not," he said. "But yes."

"Then that is where we will go. And you must do your daily exercises as well, yes?"

"One thing at a time, Curie." He was not conceding two points to her in under a minute. That was just too much.

One of her eyestalks bobbed in her closest approximation of a nod. "As you say, monsieur. But you must not forget them."

"Just--" She wasn't going to let it go until they got moving, was she? "Just stay close and try not to make too much noise. It's safe where we're headed, but I can't say the same for the roads we'll have to take to get there." And even then, Diamond City wasn't really safe. It was just well-guarded and heavily populated.

But he couldn't really articulate that to Curie. They were too deep into the wrong territory for him to tell her why it wasn't safe. Ted would catch on within seconds, but Curie? She would be oblivious if not told outright what the problem was. Commonwealth politics and intrigue were foreign to her. Just another reason why he preferred travelling with Ted; avoiding Institute hotspots was as easy as a glance in his direction.

No. Thinking like that was pointless. Harkness had to be able to travel with other people. He was the fucking General. He had responsibilities. And if Ted was ever injured, or sick, or busy, Harkness would have to know how to manage his anxiety in the man's absence even in the face of shit he'd normally run away from.

He could handle it. He _could_. Really.

\---

There was no way Harkness could have predicted Piper Wright.

She was at the gates when they got there, yelling into an intercom for the people inside to open the door. The moment she spotted Harkness, she used him as leverage to get inside by convincing whoever was on the other side of the door that he was a trader and telling him to "play along". Once the door was open, she promptly dragged him into an argument with the mayor.

"What about you, big guy? Do you believe in freedom of the press?" she asked him.

He blinked at her. "I... I suppose?"

Apparently, this was enough for her to be able to rip into the mayor all over again, going on a tirade about free speech and voter suppression that would have made Ted proud. Harkness was pretty sure the pudgy, unimpressive mayor only let them in because he didn't want to hear any more of it. He was also fairly sure that this wasn't the first time (nor would it be the last time) she had gotten into an argument of that sort.

Honestly, he liked her already.

"Hey. You." He turned his head to look, and she was giving him an unnervingly thorough once-over. "Meet me in my office when you get the chance, alright?"

She was bold. As anxious as he was feeling just being in Diamond City, that alone was a comfort. So, after he'd had a decent, rad-free (Curie's geiger counter was thankfully as effective as Ted's pip-boy) meal, during which Curie spent her time trying to chat with the locals as well as their broken Protectron, he did indeed head over to the woman's office once he'd gotten directions to it. Because he was afraid, and she reminded him of Ted.

When he knocked, though, it wasn't this Piper woman who answered the door. It was a girl who couldn't be older than twelve, squinting at him suspiciously. He could feel the warm air from inside through the doorway.

"Hello," he said. "Is Piper here?"

"Who is it?" called a voice from inside, and he relaxed. Piper's. So she was here.

"Some guy and a robot," the girl replied. "He looks like a secret agent or something."

Harkness heard Piper laugh. "Yeah, sounds about right. Let him in."

The girl's face scrunched up, but she complied and stepped aside for Harkness to come in, along with Curie. "I'll be watching you, so don't try anything funny," she warned Harkness. "I know how to use a pistol."

Piper emerged from the back of the, well, house, in the process of taking off a pair of inkstained gloves. Her coat was tied around her waist, but her hat was still on. "He's fine, Nat. 'Sides, can't you see he's already jumpy enough as it is?"

"Is it that obvious?" Harkness had to ask.

"Yeah, kinda." At least she was honest. Pulling a cigarette from one of her coat's inside pockets along with a lighter, she set it between her lips and lit it with a flourish as she moved to sit on one of the room's many ragged couches. "Have a seat, tough guy. You look like you could use a break."

Harkness sat on the chair that looked the least likely to buckle under his weight. "What's this about?"

"Well, first thing's first." Piper leaned back against the couch and didn't seem to notice that it creaked under her weight. "What do you know about the Institute?"

He froze for an instant, and she regarded him with a curious look as he caught back up to his own thoughts.

"Uh-huh. Alright. Forget I asked." She took another drag from her cigarette. "Here's what I'm seeing right now: a man with a robot walks into Diamond City dressed like something out of a pre-war spy novel, acts cagey about 'freedom of the press', and gets a look like he's been shot whenever the Institute comes up. Call me crazy, but that sounds like some serious front-page material."

"What do you want from me?" he asked. He sounded steadier than he felt.

"An interview." Piper caught his gaze in hers, and his breath hitched: she was just as dangerous as Ted. Not in the same way, but still. He couldn't very well ignore her, either. _An interview_. If he didn't give her what she wanted, what would she do? "The Institute is the hottest story in town. People need to know what's going on out there."

Harkness agreed. But he couldn't be the one to give her that story. Not yet. It wasn't safe. "I'm sorry," he said, "but that's not something I can do right now."

Piper let out a long, slow stream of smoke. "I don't have to reveal my sources, y'know."

"No. It'd reveal itself." He wasn't good enough with words. Didn't know how to conceal himself except through silence, didn't know how to protect himself except to hide completely. It was all or nothing. "It's not safe."

"And here I thought I might'a struck gold." Another thoughtful puff on the cigarette. "Is there anything you _can_ give me?"

"I don't--" He paused, considering. Wait. He did have something. "I don't have anything myself. Nothing that's safe. But I know someone who would be willing to tell you anything you wanted to know."

"You do, huh?"

"I do. And knowing him? You'll have a harder time shutting him up than you will with getting him to talk."

Piper grinned, and leaned forward to put her cigarette out in a frankly filthy ashtray. "See, what'd I tell ya? Knew I was onto something."

 


	21. 19: my own way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took ages to write, but that's mainly because I'm trying to decide what route I wanna go down for a sequel fic; I've got two ideas, and both are interesting. Sorry it's causing this to drag though! The pace should pick up reasonably well once I'm a little firmer on what I want to do with the next fic. 
> 
> And if anyone's curious, the ideas are Nick And The LW Go On An Adventure In Nuka World, and Build-Up To Visiting The Institute From The Perspective Of A Small Merc Made Of Sass. The second one would be poly that builds on the already established relationship from this fic. Yes. You heard me. The only reason this isn't DEFINITELY going to be the sequel is because Li is my lone wanderer for this canon, and writing him and Nick together is just. So fun.

The walk back to Sanctuary was long, and made longer still by how many people Piper wanted to stop and interview along the way (it was even long enough to meet Marcy on her evening patrol and leave Curie with her). And the more Piper heard about the Minutemen, the more curious she got. She paid especially close attention to how Harkness spoke to people, how he asked them if they needed anything wherever he went; it wasn't hard for her to figure out that he was one of them. This was how the questions started.

"Y'know, most people think the Minutemen died out a while back," she began. "But now they're back better than ever? Seems too good to be true, if you ask me."

"It's not like we ask for tithes. There's a three percent value-added tax for traders to use some of our outposts, but for now most of our supplies and funds come from salvage. Then we use those funds to get respectable equipment for anyone who feels like signing up and keep the ones we've got well-supplied with rations and ammo. Even with settlements that don't actively join up, we've still got trade and supply lines going with them."

"Oh, so _now_ you're chatty. I see how it is." Piper leaned in to give him a light, teasing punch in the shoulder. "Seriously though, what's the angle here? Why provide protection at all?"

Harkness shot a glance skyward. They were far enough away from Greygarden, the nearest settlement, that the crows had room to circle again without getting taken out by Ted's turrets. He supposed they could duck into the disposal yard a little to the east for cover, but that place was irradiated all to hell. "Ask again when we've got some cover," he told her. "There's an answer, but it's not one most people think of. And when I tell you, it's off the record, got it?"

"Jeez, talk about paranoid. I mean, I get it. Kinda. It's not a real story until somebody tries to poison you for printing it. But still." This being Piper, it didn't take her long to recover. "Alright, so forget the 'why' for the time being. Can you tell me who's in charge of this outfit, at least?"

He gave her an odd look.

"Oh. _Oh!_ Wait. You're the one who's calling the shots? You? Seriously?" Piper bubbled up with a laugh. "Hah! Oh my god."

"It's not something I tend to advertise."

"Yeah, I noticed. I don't think anybody down at Oberland even had a clue." She seemed delighted with this new information. "So what's a general doing slumming it up with the common folk like he's just another grunt, huh? I mean, if the Minutemen still call their leader the General."

"Checking for things people won't tell their General about through couriers because they think it's too much trouble." Even when he was in Rivet City, he'd felt more comfortable on patrol than he did delegating tasks to his subordinates. "You learn a lot more about a situation by being there than you do by hearing about it secondhand. I need to know the details people leave out."

"Y'know, you're not making yourself look _less_ paranoid."

Harkness wasn't sure how he was supposed to take that, so he let it slide. "When we have a solid base of operations and better communications for our field operatives - when we have a safety net in place to fall back on in case things start failing - then I'll probably be a little more overt about where I stand. But until then, I have more to lose by saying I'm the General than I stand to gain. It has to mean something to people for them to respect it."

"And if you say you're the General now, you'll sound like you're either crazy or just trying to get attention."

"Right."

"Do you play chess?"

He blinked at her. "I-- I can? If I have to."

"Huh." Her reaction made Harkness think he'd missed a bit of subtext somewhere. "Well, I guess even if I can't tell what the angle is, the results?" She gestured vaguely around her, and he supposed she meant the Commonwealth as a whole. "Can't really argue with what I've seen so far."

Good. Because frankly it'd be a nightmare if someone like Piper decided they didn't like what he was doing.

\---

The sun had set by the time they got back to Sanctuary. They ate, Piper chatted with everyone, and Harkness successfully avoided his exercises for an evening; by the time Ted got back, it was after nine o'clock and a little too late to comfortably start anyway. Harkness handled introductions as Ted shrugged off his gear in the front room of the main house and Piper practically bounced with eagerness.

"I'm a reporter looking for information on the Institute," she said, point blank. "Big guy over here says you can give it to me."

Ted straightened up halfway through setting down his bag, a slow grin spreading across his face. "A reporter, huh?"

"Yeah."

He shot a glance at Harkness. "Hey babe, y'mind giving us a minute?"

Without a second thought, Harkness bowed out and headed back to Ted's house to give his human space to do the interview. They were already talking long before he was out of earshot.

Kicking his shoes off, he plucked a book off the shelf, settled into bed, and obliged the cat with a place to hop up and do the kneady-paws thing across his lap. Ted would probably take longer than a minute - already had, in fact - but that was fine. He didn't mind. Piper doing interviews would work nicely with their plan, and Ted probably knew that. Ted probably also knew what sorts of things he could get away with saying better than Harkness did, and could use this to their advantage.

They could get people to root for the Minutemen. They could give people reasons to like synths and hate the Institute. Was it propoganda if it dealt in truths? Was it manipulation to try and sway public opinion towards doing the right thing? Harkness didn't know. All he had was a quiet certainty, backed by numbers and statistics and probabilities. They could do this. Not just because Ted had said it was possible, but because they could make it possible by gaming the system enough. The other side had already rigged their half of the proverbial board. Doing the same on their end was only the sensible thing to do.

And even the Institute couldn't stand up to the whole Commonwealth. Not when the alternative for their synths was being free and cared for. And from the synth parts his patrols brought back (usually for the sake of Ted dismantling them in the living room as he tried to figure out their processing capacity relative to each other) they weren't making enough new nonhuman models to make up for a loss like that.

By the time he heard the front door open and shut in the other room, over an hour had passed. It was well after ten o'clock. He was only halfway through his book ( _The Ship Who Sang_ , an interesting take on human disability but a reductive one on AI), slowed in his reading by his thoughts. Ignoring the cat's complaints about its warm furniture shifting position, he sat up straighter in bed and pulled out a long-dead old credit card thing to use as a bookmark.

"How did it go?" he asked of the house's newest occupant.

"Not bad," Ted replied from the other room. There was some shuffling as he pulled off layers and set things down, audible but not visible. "I'd hate to be on her bad side, Christ. She asks good questions though."

"What did you tell her?"

"Stuff. I told her about Vault-Tec. Gave her some of the dirt I've dug up on the Mechanist, related dirt on General Atomics and RobCo. Nuclear energy safety tips, clean-up and decontamination in case it gets into somebody's crops." His voice got louder as he came down the hall, culminating in him poking his head in the door with a mirthless grin. "Oh, and the Institute. That was a pretty big deal."

"Same question, Ted."

"Yeah, I know. I'm getting to it." Ted stripped down quite a bit further before snuggling up into bed, all the way down to boxers and an undershirt while Harkness still had an overshirt, pants, and socks on beyond that. The cat scrambled to get out of the way right before he flopped down. "I, uh. I told her about my family. What I know, what you told me. I'm assuming you didn't tell me everything, by the way."

No, Harkness definitely hadn't told him everything. "Go on."

"Well, I didn't tell her about the cloning and genetic engineering and all that shit, but I told her that their intent was to study an untainted human genome for the sake of making human synths based on the same model. Told her about the birds, but I also told her pretty firmly not to publish that since I'm fairly sure she's smart enough to know how much that would give her away. Uh, oh! And I told her that synths that don't know they're synths are never an Institute thing. So if you think you might be a synth, but you don't know, you're not a danger and no one else has any reason to think you are."

"Alright."

"I also made sure to say that if someone's acting _weird_ , like, not themselves on a fundamental level? Don't take it out on them, because they're probably not a hundred percent on-board with whatever purposes the Institute has for them. Just assume that if someone's gone weird on you that they're running surveillance, but don't try to act on it. I think I got that right?"

"You did." Harkness lifted his arm up enough so that Ted could tuck himself up into it and get warm, and the human gladly did so with a happy little sigh.

"Anyway," he continued, "it was a decent ending to a long day. You know the Mechanist is using Robobrains, right?"

"Right."

"Okay, well, I knew some of the eggheads who worked on that project. Started as a top-secret collab between RobCo and General Atomics. Anyway, so the actual brains were taken from convicts. Murderers and such, I'm talking death row. The guys in charge figured it'd be no great loss to society. So, not exactly the best people to put in charge of rolling murderbot tanks to begin with, let alone small armies of murderbots."

Ted had a point, but Harkness wasn't sure what that point was yet. "So?"

" _So_ I'm thinking the Mechanist isn't actually a bad person." Whatever look Harkness gave him had him holding his hands up in a defensive gesture. "No, seriously! Hear me out on this, okay."

"Ted..."

"It's still a case of badly worded orders, but it's compounded by a case of Robobrains being a fucked up way to control your army of death machines. Technically speaking, what we're dealing with is two levels of human error. I've talked it out with a couple of the Robobrains I managed to salvage, gotten as many details as I can, gone over all the angles I can think of. I think I might be able to change this guy's mind on how he approaches dealing with his robots and get him to stand down."

"Willingly?"

"Yeah. Should be possible. And like, if not? Okay, sure. Plan B is liberal application of missiles to the offending area. But plan A is talking it out." Ted folded his arms and sank further into Harkness's side. "You're not stopping me. This is the home stretch. At this point it's talk him down or bust _anyway_. Got nothing to lose by trying."

Harkness sighed, unable to help his smile. Damn. Ted really was that determined to save as many people as he could, wasn't he? "If you think you can do it, then I'll take your word for it."

Ted huffed. "Y'know that's dangerous, right? Just taking my word for it all the time, I mean. I could be lying. Could be wrong."

"True," Harkness admitted, "but I trust you."

"You shouldn't."

Harkness had to chuckle at that, leaning in to kiss his human's head. That was fine. Harkness was sure he could make up for whatever confidence Ted lacked. He had more than enough certainty for both of them. From what he knew of humans, that sort of thing tended to spill over into others if there was enough of it for them to pick up on it, and Ted was possibly the most human person he'd ever met. So it stood to reason (as much as anything did, when it came to figuring out how humans worked) that if he believed in Ted, Ted would believe in himself a little more in turn.

Or, this being Ted, he would at least make an effort to not disappoint. For Harkness, that was enough. More than most people did. Thus Harkness took it as a good sign that even as Ted smushed himself further into the bedding, he was blushing. "You're so fucking weird," he mumbled. "You do know how much of a liability I am, right? I haven't been to a therapist in fucking months, and Curie's really the only doctor I've seen. I could flake out on you. Or straight-up die. Also a possibility. Meanwhile you're some kinda immortal."

"I'm really not," Harkness said. "The circumstances would be different, but synths are even more vulnerable than humans in some ways."

"Yeah, but like. If we ignore circumstance? You're gonna live longer than I do." Ted sank further, features drawn into a tight frown. "Sorry. I know I probably brought the mood down. Just ignore me, okay?"

Harkness tightened his hold with the arm around Ted's shoulders. "What's this about, Ted?"

"I--" A sigh, then a long pause for consideration. "I've just... I've been thinking, alright. 'Cause I don't think you actually do that when it comes to this kind of thing."

"What's wrong?" Usually these things had a trigger. When Ted got upset, there was a reason.

Ted sucked in a breath. "I've been... I have heart problems, right? You know that. And uh, my defibrilator is, well. It's kinda old."

"I thought it was fixed. You said you had surgery. You take medication." To Harkness's knowledge, Ted hadn't fainted in weeks. But there were long stretches of time where Harkness hadn't been there to see anything. Gaps in his knowledge. If something had happened while he wasn't there--

"Babe, that doesn't fix it. It just adds a few more years to the timer." Ted was smiling, but he sounded like he was about to cry. Harkness had no idea what to do. "You're probably gonna outlive me by a lot."

Of course he was going to outlive Ted. Harkness knew that already. He knew as much about every human he'd ever met. Ted bringing it up seemed pointless, but nothing he ever said was pointless. This didn't sound like a warning that they'd have to pursue different treatment options. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying if you wanna leave, I'd get that." An echo of what Harkness had said before, different reasons for the same sentiment. "Or if you want me to leave. Either way, it's... It's fine. I've been through this before."

"Alone," Harkness guessed, and Ted nodded. "People left you because you're sick?"

Ted winced. "Look, it's not like that. It's just... It's a lot of emotional load for someone to try and take on, and I get it if it's too much for some people."

For Harkness, the only thing that was 'too much' was Ted's insistance on how he could take it. What the hell was anyone supposed to think after hearing a thing like that? Maybe some would take it at face value, express their relief, even leave. But not Harkness. He knew Ted too well to think that was the best thing to do.

Because the probability of Ted desperately wanting him to stay was too high to ignore. And while the chance that Ted's premature death would hurt was almost a certainty, the chance that Harkness would never forgive himself if he didn't do everything he could to prevent it was even higher still. Ted deserved every scrap of life he could get. And every nonverbal cue Harkness was capable of picking up on said that this idea of being alone wasn't something that would make him happy any more than it would for Harkness. The only reason he was doing it was to be protective; a way of keeping Harkness safe, even from things that neither of them had control over.

So Harkness pulled his human closer into his arms, wrapping them both around the man's shoulders and kissing his hair. "Not for me," he said. And that was that. "Are you still alright with handling the Mechanist, or should I come with you?"

He couldn't see Ted's expression, but he could feel the shiver that went up the man's spine, hear the shaky laugh that bubbled up out of him. "If you wanna come, I won't stop you. Figured it wasn't your thing, though."

"Do you want me to come with you or not."

"I said I don't mind--"

"Ted."

" _Yes_ , alright. Jeez."

Harkness would count that as a win.

\---

The next day, there weren't any signs of Ted's health problem that Harkness could see. He had a minor hitch in his own recovery due to missing out on a day of exercises, but that could have been due to also be his recovery hitting its peak, and it wasn't like he was getting worse as long as he took his medication. He was getting to the point where he would be mostly-alright with his new "normal" as long as it never got worse. It was workable.

But he wasn't quite sure what to do about Ted potentially getting worse.

The Institute could fix it, he was certain. It wasn't a particularly appealing option, but Harkness knew enough to know that it was an option nonetheless. From genetic engineering to transplants to cybernetics, they could fix just about anything short of cancer. And even that was usually something they could contain and manage from what he'd seen. He didn't even doubt that Ted could get in their good graces if he liked, given the circumstances. It wouldn't be hard for Ted to flaunt how smart he was, or who he was related to. Ted would just hate it, that was all.

(Harkness would hate it too, but given what he knew, at least he was fairly sure that Ted wouldn't be someone they'd try to replace. Even without the involvement of Father, there was no way in hell they were encouraging a synth to try and emulate that kind of wildly independent personality. They weren't that stupid.)

Barring that, there were certain settlements that had trained doctors, others that had old world facilities. Harkness was sure he could get a collaborative effort going. The facilities at Vault 81, plus maybe cannibalizing one or two pre-war hospitals for whatever equipment was intact, and then a few good doctors from places like Goodneighbor and Diamond City-- yeah, it was possible. As long as he could get everyone to work together and agree to leave their home turf for long enough to get shit done. Curie could probably help too.

Oh, and there was the Railroad, but Harkness knew better than to expect them to help for free, so he was going to hold off on that suggestion. Besides, they probably couldn't spare the resources for it anyway, even if they might have the tech. If he could avoid leaning on them, he'd rather do so.

"This is the place," Ted told him, snapping him out of his thoughts. In front of them was a medium-sized, unassuming building-- a RobCo parts and service center. Ted had rigged a device up to his pip-boy that was supposed to get past the electronic locks inside, but Harkness wasn't sure how the hell a robot-building headquarters was even supposed to fit in this place, let alone one with complicated electronic locks. "You ready?"

Harkness was always ready. "That depends. Judging by the size of the building, I _might_ have some trouble with the number of bullets I brought for my pistol if the robots are packed in at a density of any more than about five per square foot."

"Hah!" Ted broke out in a face-splitting grin. "Babe. I love you. But there's a basement. That's where the robots are."

"That makes significantly more sense." Although he wasn't sure how the hell the Institute hadn't stripped it down to the studs yet if that was the case. "Pre-war?"

"Yeah. I knew some of the folks who got kicked out of working here." Ah. That RobCo collaboration with General Atomics. "This is where they made the Robobrains. Fair warning, I don't know what went on past the first few levels. I know _basically_ what went down with the convicts that got shipped down and the robots that came out of it, but the specifics were way above the paygrade of anyone I knew."

"So?"

"I'm just saying it'll be a little fucked up." Ted shrugged. "Just, letting you know."

"Ted. Really." Yes, some of the things Ted told stories about were morbid. He could go into graphic detail about severe radiation burns, catastrophic meltdowns, mangled bodies. But just because Harkness didn't share Ted's fascination with the macabre didn't mean he couldn't handle it. He was sort of made to kill and incapacitate people.

After giving it more than a half-second's worth of thought, this seemed to occur to Ted as well. "Oh. Right, yeah. You're-- yeah. Good point. Okay." Jamming his non-power-fist hand into his pocket only lasted as long as it took for him to reach the door, at which point he awkwardly had to take it back out again because his right hand was too occupied to open said door. "Alright, let's head inside then. Dibs on power armor bits."

"You always get dibs on power armor."

"If you want it, all you gotta do is ask."

"No, you can have it. I'd rather not wear any if I don't have to."

"See, this is what I love about you. Aside from your ass, I mean."

Harkness wasn't quite sure how the conversation had managed to veer off-course like that, but it was Ted, so he couldn't say he was surprised. "We're about to go into hostile territory and _that's_ what you're thinking about."

"At any given time, there is a non-zero chance that somewhere in the back of my brain, yes, I'm thinking about your ass," Ted agreed. Then with a melodramatic swooning motion, he continued: "Even though I've only seen brief glimpses of it, they were tantalizing glimpses indeed--"

"Ted."

"--and I cannot count the ways in which I have considered doing terrible things with it, as it is an ass worthy of a Greek god--"

" _Ted._ "

"--yes?"

"Can you not."

"Ugh, fine. Killjoy." Ted looked like he was about to finally, _finally_ head inside, but he paused long enough to poke his head out and offer a crooked smile. "I'm kidding, by the way. If you want me to stop being a shit, I'll stop."

"Just--" Harkness sighed as he moved to follow Ted inside. "Later. Okay? When we're not about to head into an enemy base that probably has at least a couple of heavily modded Assaultrons waiting for us."

"Aw, so you like it when I'm a shithead. Alright, I'll keep that in mind."

"That's not what I said."

"Hah! Uh-huh, sure." Ted strode confidently into the building, walking backwards so he could face Harkness. He was probably going to trip over something. "You know I'm gonna test this later."

Harkness had to concede that he at least seemed to be feeling better than he had the night before. "Maybe. If I let you." He wasn't even sure what Ted wanted to test. He'd lost track of the conversation when it had turned to innuendo, and was pretty sure most of it was going on inside Ted's brain. "Let's just get moving."

Ted snickered, and turned around just prior to where his foot would have caught on a broken terminal that was in pieces across the floor. "You're adorable when you're flustered, y'know that?"

"So you tell me," Harkness mumbled, but Ted was already distracted with picking through the ruins and checking for traps, so he wasn't listening.

And Harkness still had no idea how sick he was.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO TED'S NOT GOING TO DIE HE'S FINE DON'T WORRY I WOULDN'T KILL OFF MY FAVORITE MARSHMALLOW JEEZ


	22. 20: there you are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO TED IS NOT GOING TO DIE NO ONE IS DYING HUSH
> 
> I know that might lessen the impact but jeez it's important okay. it's like a rule or something. disabled characters in my stories don't die for drama. I just don't wanna downplay its real impact on the characters, that's all. 
> 
> might have a clever plan for the castle though. who knows.

"I'm Isabel. Isabel Cruz." Long, tapered fingers tucked a strand of dark hair behind one ear, and the woman standing in front of them smiled sheepishly. "It's, uh, it's nice to meet you."

Isabel was the Mechanist.

They'd fought their way through the place well enough. Harkness was sporting a jagged gash on his right arm from an Assaultron that had been equipped with a ripper along with radiation burns on his right hand, and Ted was incredibly lucky it was just his coat that had taken most of the damage from an overcharged laser aimed at his chest (even if the coat was ruined), but both of them had come through it alive in spite of how many robots they'd had to chew through to do it. Even if Ted was completely out of explosives for once, and Harkness had been forced to switch to his rifle after he'd run out of bullets for the pistol, they were alive.

And then there was Isabel. A tall, lanky woman in a costume that was something out of a comic book. She had long features and round, dark eyes, and she was sporting look on her face like a thoroughly scolded dog.

"I'm sorry, okay?" she said. "I didn't mean for this to happen. Really."

"We know," Harkness told her, and alongside him, Ted nodded. "We figured as much after talking to your robots."

"I just wanted to help people."

Ted smiled. "You still can, y'know. The Minutemen will take all the help they can get at this point."

"But what if I mess up again?"

"You won't," Ted assured. "I mean, for one thing, I won't let you."

Isabel chewed her lip as she considered, fidgeting with her helmet. "I... I guess."

"I could take a look at how you code things, if you like," he offered. "I mean, can't hurt to have an extra set of eyes when you're putting in new safeguards, right?"

This was enough for her to relax a little. "Okay. Yeah. That, uh. That sounds good."

She turned to lead him to the control room, and Harkness let them go with a dismissive wave, leaning heavily against a nearby table.

A month ago, it wouldn't have been nearly as draining, would it? Reduced energy levels and injury meant that his system was working harder to compensate for the blood loss and tissue damage. Ted had wrapped it and put a tourniquet on his arm in lieu of stitches, but it twinged whenever he moved, assaulting him with new error messages. That and the exertion had drained his power levels far more than he'd usually allow, but if they'd tried to stop for a rest in the middle of the facility, they would've been overwhelmed.

He wasn't used to being so tired. A big mission such as this one wouldn't have fazed him before. When he was first built, he could've gone for days without stopping. Torn through this whole place on his own, ripped these lesser machines to pieces with his bare hands. The Assaultron that had managed to get him? He'd been trying to do just that. Going for its neck, the connections there that powered the laser on its head as it focused on Ted. He'd miscalculated; it'd taken a split second longer for him to do it than it should've, taking that much more effort to tear the thing open. Giving it enough time to cut him. Taking enough time that he'd burned his hand doing it.

The skin was already peeling. Blistered from acute exposure. Not enough to cause necrosis or permanently maim him, but enough sensors were misfiring that he knew he'd probably have to see a specialist about it if he wanted it to heal properly. Someone who knew his anatomy, who would have schematics for synths like him.

In other words, he'd have to go to the Railroad sometime soon whether he wanted to or not. Which meant speeding up the timetable on the Castle.

Shit. Would he even be able to participate in the main attack like this? He needed stitches for the gash, and his arm would take at least a week to heal even without radiation damage to his hand. He could use his pistol well enough with his left, but the rifle required two hands, and he'd rather have the rifle against mirelurks. He could use grenades, but having more than one person using explosives was a liability for everyone who might get too close (which was, well, everyone who was medium-to-short range, because again: mirelurks).

"Hey."

Harkness looked up from his bad hand at the sound of Ted's voice, spotting him standing on the walkway up to the control room. "What is it?"

"Just wondering if everything's okay." One of Ted's hands was holding loosely onto the steel structure surrounding the control room, fingers tapping against metal idly. "You've been kinda quiet."

Ah. "It's nothing serious. Burned my hand, that's all."

Ted's brow furrowed, and he started down the walkway towards where Harkness was. "I thought the heat from that thing's head-laser didn't get through your gloves."

"Not that kind of burn," Harkness said.

That just made Ted frown even harder, as he closed the gap to take Harkness's hand into both of his and trace the blistered skin with his fingertips. "Did you throw your glove away?"

"I did." It was too crispy around the edges to save, even if it'd protected his hand from the heat.

"Mm. Alright, one sec." Pulling his sleeve down from around his pip-boy, Ted set the device against the fabric of Harkness's coat, which he'd put back on after his arm was bound; Ted sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth when the device started clicking. Harkness's sensors were misfiring worse than he'd thought if he hadn't picked that up. "Okay. Coat off."

But it was cold down there. "How bad is it?" Harkness had to ask as he pulled off the garment, only for Ted to take it away the moment he'd gotten it off.

"Bad enough." Tossing the coat aside, Ted then went for the fabric of Harkness's overshirt. That earned some clicking as well, and he made an irritated noise. "This too. And you're gonna need to wash your hands."

"Do we even have any clean water for me to do that with?"

"Isabel set up filters on the taps down here." Once Harkness's shirt was off, Ted took it and chucked it into the same pile as the coat. "She might have a spare jumpsuit for you to wear if you ask. You two are about the same height."

"She's taller than I am, actually," Harkness said. They weren't anywhere near the same size otherwise. But then again, clothes hardly ever fit anyone these days. "What are you going to do with my coat?"

Ted shrugged. "Throw it in the incinerator, probably. I'll look for a new one in the staff lockers while I'm over there, don't worry."

"Ted, that's my bulletproof coat."

"And it's irradiated." The look Ted gave him told him that there'd be no arguing this. "This is standard clean-up procedure, babe. Now go wash your hands."

As annoying as it was, Ted was probably right.

\---

That evening, Isabel came back with them to Sanctuary along with her pet eyebot, and Ted stayed up late again showing her how he built and programmed things. Filling in the gaps where her lack of formal training was able to seep in and affect her judgment, letting her draw from both his pre-war and post-war knowledge. Harkness could hear them through the walls as he settled into bed after dinner, and he could still hear them three, four, five hours later.

It was well after two in the morning by the time Ted finally came to bed. Harkness had long since taken his medication, and he was seriously considering just going to sleep by himself by that point. But Ted did come in and flop down onto the mattress next to Harkness before that actually became necessary, so it didn't break their routine that badly.

What _did_ break routine was when Harkness woke about an hour or so before sunrise to Ted sitting up in bed, a hand resting against the middle of his chest as he took slow, measured breaths.

"Ted?" Harkness's voice was rough, tired. His system told him all over again about his injuries and informed him that he hadn't completed his sleep cycle. But he focused on Ted's frown instead, all tightly furrowed brows with eyes squeezed shut. Was it the lighting, or were his lips slightly too pale? "What's wrong?"

Ted smiled tightly, letting out a small huff of laughter. "Nothing," he said. Still focused on his breathing. "Go back to sleep, babe."

Right. Because that was reassuring. Harkness sat up, wincing when he unthinkingly put weight on his injured arm. "Do you want me to get Curie?"

"No. No, this is..." Ted sighed. "It's just palpitations. Nothing new. It'll go away on its own."

Harkness debated for a moment on whether or not to believe him; after giving it some thought, he decided that the better option would be to trust his human's judgment. "Anything I can do?"

"Hah. Not, uh, not really." Shifting his weight, Ted switched hands so that his right could catch Harkness's left and squeeze it, while his own left hand was brought up to his neck to put two fingers against the skin just under his jawline. "I'll be fine. Don't worry. I know what a heart attack feels like."

A heart attack. That was a possibility? "Ted..."

"I'm just dizzy, babe. A little lightheaded." He wound his fingers up in Harkness's more tightly. "That's all."

But-- "You're sure there's nothing I can do?"

"Yeah." Still breathing slowly, evenly. This was something Ted had been through before enough times to have practice. Something he'd survived enough times to not panic, Harkness realized. "Trust me, okay? It's enough that you're here."

Harkness forced himself to breathe too, willing himself to calm down. "If you're sure."

After a few minutes, it passed. Ted laid back down looking paler and more exhausted than he had when he'd first come to bed, and Harkness didn't hesitate in wrapping the human up in his arms, Ted's back against his chest. Backwards from how they usually did it, but this way, Harkness could feel his pulse more readily.

He'd figure out a way to fix this. He had to.

\---

Sanctuary's war table was so overcrowded by that morning that it was actually two tables crammed together. The entire front room of the main house had been emptied out for the sake of the meeting, filled instead with a wide assortment of chairs from all over the settlement. Preston, Marcy, Sturges, Lucy, Piper, Ted, Isabel, and Curie were all present and accounted for, with the dog joining them under the table to sniff crotches and beg for ear-skritches. There was a space heater in every corner of the room, all of them on full blast, and even then everyone was still fairly heavily dressed.

And at the head of the table stood Harkness, surveying a map that was drawn out over several pages of Piper's notebook taped together.

"There are two paths to get to the Castle," he said, pointing to indicate them with his now-bandaged right hand. "here, and here. Once we clear out the adults and bomb the nests, we should expect reinforcements coming from the sea to defend their territory. Isabel--"

"Yes! Here!" The woman raised her hand for a second, blinked as she realized everyone was looking at her, and then dropped it awkwardly. "Uh. Sorry. You were saying?"

Harkness shook his head before continuing. "I need your robots covering the shoreline on all sides to keep the people inside from getting swarmed. There may be hunters and kings coming out of that water, and my people aren't exactly equipped for those kinds of attacks." Acid and burst eardrums weren't good for squishy humans. "Can you do that?"

"I, uh, I think so. The Castle's close enough to my control center that I should be able to bounce the signal off of my eyebots and coordinate everything from there." She glanced at Ted. "I might need your help improving the eyebots so they're better at receiving that signal though?"

Ted shrugged. "Easy enough."

"Okay. Then, yeah. I can do that." She looked at Harkness expectantly and practically beamed at him when he gave her an approving nod.

"Marcy, Preston." He turned to them next, sitting near each other but not exactly next to each other; Marcy was clear at the opposite end of the tables from Harkness, while Preston was near the end and sitting scarcely a few inches away from Sturges. "What's the status on the troops?"

"We've got twenty people who are good with guns, present company excluded," Marcy said. "Mostly hunting rifles, a few shotguns, some pipe pistols, and a couple of homemade laser muskets. Then we've got two people who are pretty good medics, not including Teddy, Sturges, or Curie. Everyone else who volunteered is kinda terrible and should probably sit this one out."

Preston continued for her as soon as she was finished. "But we have plenty of people who are willing to help in other ways. We've got couriers, cooks, carpenters, mechanics. Once we've got the Castle back, we won't have any trouble finding people to run it."

It was Sturges who raised a hand next. "Once we're there though, we're gonna need to fix the place up. Ain't no gettin' around that. Those pipes ain't had nothin' in 'em for years, and they're gonna freeze right the hell up the minute we try turnin' 'em on."

"It's not just the pipes," Marcy noted. "People are saying the walls are crumbling too."

Harkness nodded. "We'll get to that once we know how much of our ammo is going to end up being surplus. Our budget's a little tight right now. Once we know for sure how much we have in the way of caps after this, then we'll know how much we have for repairs." And how much they'd need to finish them. "Lucy."

The girl perked up. "Yes?"

"Curie's going to be keeping the front lines on their feet since she's armored, but I want you helping the other medics in the back line while they deal with more severe injuries." She was young, and smart, and didn't need to be anywhere near the fight if anything came out of the water that was particularly mean. "This could get ugly, and I want you to make sure our people come out of this alive. Got it?"

She straightened in her chair and threw him a lopsided salute. "Yes, sir!"

"Good." He moved on to his next line of questioning. "Curie, what about our medical supplies? Are we well stocked enough to handle things like severe acid burns?"

"Oui, I believe so." Her eyestalks nodded an affirmative as she bobbed in the air. "We have stimpaks and antiseptic to spare, and enough clean bandages to last for some time. We are somewhat low on blood plasma, but with luck, it will not be an issue."

That was good enough for Harkness. "Alright," he said. "Piper, did you get all that?"

Piper's tongue was sticking out of the corner of her mouth, her knees up around her chest as she scribbled away on a notepad. "Yup, sure did." She grinned without looking up. "You guys sure are serious about this, aren'tcha? You know word on the street is that there's a giant sea monster living at the Castle?"

Ted snorted. "Oh, we've heard alright. That'd be why I'm going in full T-45 power armor with about an armory's worth of explosives." He gave her a wink. "Just in case."

"Well, can't say I didn't warn ya." Piper shrugged and kept on writing. "Here's hoping I don't have to write too many obituaries, right?"

"Yeah," Harkness said. "Here's hoping."

 


	23. iii: libera me from hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, if you know the song I got the title of this chapter from, then you know where I get a lot of my Ted inspiration. There's some feels at the beginning of the chapter, but you'll LOVE the rest of it. I promise. I loved writing it. I loved IMAGINING it. I looked up maps to make sure it was possible and it IS, technically, in theory, even if I'm not sure the game spawns enemies that far away. 
> 
> Three shots is based on my math for what it would take with the rifle currently being used in-story in comparison to the rifle I tend to use in-game these days, AKA The Last Minute (a legendary gauss rifle you get after you open up the Minutemen armory at the Castle that's available from Ronnie Shaw whenever she's playing vendor up in there) plus the bonus from the Rifleman perk because yeah, that'd definitely be in-character. Usually with The Last Minute it takes ONE shot. I'm also including a stealth bonus in this calculation because technically, he's not visible to the enemy. Yes, I know this makes very little sense. Don't worry, it will when you read the chapter.

Two days. That was how much time Harkness said they had. After that, who could say what might happen? Not Ted. All they had was a tentative plan: secure the Castle, find the Railroad. Harkness needed repairs from a specialist. He'd also none-too-subtly implied that he wanted to find someone who could fix Ted. Stubborn bastard actually thought Ted was fixable, wouldn't hear anything to the contrary.

"I'm not just going to let this happen," he'd said, and Ted didn't have it in him to fight it. People didn't go to those kinds of lengths for him. Even Rani had just... Accepted it. Decided instead that it would be better to have things to remember him by than it would be to fight the inevitable.

He knew she would've liked Harkness. Would've dragged him into those same big family gatherings Ted had been accepted into, where he'd awkwardly tower over everyone. Had she met the man he'd been based on, back before the bombs? Had they been stationed together, seen the same battlefields? She hadn't been a combatant, but there had to be places where the Army and its engineers brushed up against each other. Maybe she'd recognize him, or have things to talk to him about. Ted didn't have that kind of pre-war connection with people, at least not with anyone he'd met so far.

To be honest, he tried not to think about that if he could help it. Easier to just keep moving. But there were still some things that tugged at the back of his mind sometimes when he didn't need them to.

Well. He had two days.

He found Harkness with Piper and Curie in the main house, sitting in on what was apparently an explanation on vaccinations.

"So it's a little bit of whatever the bug is that kills people, but it doesn't make people sick?" Piper was saying.

"Non, it is not technically the infectious agent itself," Curie replied. "It is a combination of-- oh!" She paused when one of her eyestalks spied Ted in the doorway and bounced in an approximation of a curtsy. "Monsieur Ted, it is a pleasure to see you today."

"Hey Curie." Ted smiled at her, then more generally at all three of them. "Do you two ladies mind at all if I borrow Harkness for a bit?"

Piper blew a raspberry and waved dismissively in his direction. "Go ahead. Big guy isn't much use in explaining this kinda stuff anyway."

Yeah, no, Harkness wouldn't be useful for trying to explain medical things at all. "Sweet, thanks. Harkness?"

"What is it?" Yes, Harkness was asking, but he was also already on his way out of his chair, so Ted just made a beckoning motion and led the way out of the house. And as if on cue, Harkness followed.

Ted waited until the ladies were out of earshot to speak up. "I'm headed back into the vault," he said. "When I was on my way out the first time I spotted a gun locked up in storage. I figure if I can't manage to crack the lock, then you'll be able to bust the case open."

"Vault 111, you mean," Harkness guessed.

What other vault would Ted even be talking about in the context of breaking into locked up storage cases? "Yeah. That."

Harkness went quiet as he considered for a moment. "Is this the first time you'd be going back since you came out of cryo?"

So he'd actually picked up on that. "Something like that."

"Is everything alright?"

Ted halted midstep, words catching in his throat.

"Ted?" A warm hand caught his. New gloves, a new coat. Both things being soft and patchy and the wrong size. Ted let out a shuddering breath and tangled his fingers up in larger, stronger ones. Harkness's left hand, not his right. He was being careful not to use the right one for much. The sensors being damaged fucked with his grip strength. "What's wrong?"

"I... I never, ah. Never buried my wife," Ted admitted. "I just turned the cryo chamber back on. I was too weak to-- I couldn't lift her." He still wasn't sure if he could, but he'd gotten stronger in the past couple of months. Maybe even strong enough to carry her out of there. "She deserves better than that. Maybe a cremation? Since the ground's kinda hard right now and all."

Harkness squeezed his hand. Gentle and careful. Not like how Ted usually did it, with all the strength he had. Even all the strength he had couldn't hurt Harkness. "Up to you."

"It doesn't have to be done _now_ ," Ted was quick to say. "I mean, what if something comes up? If you say it needs to wait, it can wait."

"Whatever you feel like doing."

Ted laughed, bitter and broken-sounding to his own ears. "I feel like crying, honestly. The body hasn't even had a chance to start decomposing and I just--" He sniffled, wiped at his eyes with his free hand. "I'm uh, I'm not good at this. Sorry. Didn't mean to get all, uh, all mushy on you."

"It's fine." Harkness was spoiling him, forgiving him for all his bullshit like that. A guy could get used to that kinda treatment. "Still want me to come with you?"

Definitely. Always. "Dunno." Ted tried to smile and it turned out wobbly. "You still up for the job? I'm not, y'know. Not all that stable right now. Might get ugly."

"I think I can handle that." Big idiot was gonna get himself hurt being so trusting. "Lead the way."

So Ted did. Together they went up the hill to Vault 111, and together they came back down, with Ted carrying a body and Harkness carrying a prototype gun. She was cold in his arms, her hair damp. If you could ignore the bullet hole in her heart, she looked almost peaceful.

That evening, Harkness gathered everyone together to set up a pyre. Ted took the opportunity while it was being put together to rip the tape off of the door to Shaun's room and start emptying it out. He'd put her things in there, piled in with things he'd found in the first weeks that had reminded him of a son he'd never see again. All of it, from furniture to toys to clothes, went into the fire along with her. The only things he didn't throw out were her books. She would've killed him if he tried. She'd taken years to find all those out-of-print copies.

At least Harkness didn't question the replaced tape on the door, or having a whole new pile of books to read that night. Sometimes Ted was glad the man had trouble finding the right words to ask him things.

\---

The day they marched for the Castle, Ted's pip-boy told him it was the 14th of December, while Harkness told him it was 22 degrees fahrenheit (Jesus fucking _Christ_ was Ted ever glad he'd insulated his power armor), and Mama Murphy told them to expect a radstorm sometime around nightfall. Harkness broke off with Piper and Isabel about halfway there to head to the control center under the old RobCo service building, splitting whatever on-the-ground command duties were necessary that couldn't be relayed by Eyebots between Ted, Preston and Marcy. But there was a direct link from the control center to the HUD of Ted's helmet, and he was glad for Harkness's voice in his ear.

"Stay sharp," Harkness said. "Wait for our signal. Marcy's almost in position with her squadron, ETA's about three minutes."

"Got it," Ted replied. The HUD made it easier to see, magnifying things at distances he didn't usually register. He could shift his thumb a certain direction in the haptic connections of the gloves and get it to zoom in on the nearest target in view, and use little twitches to thumb through additional targets beyond that; currently he was testing it by flipping through the nervously shifting Minutemen in front of him. Theoretically the power armor could be rigged up to compensate for his aim, but he hadn't had a chance to work out the finer points of it well enough yet. No use accidentally breaking his spine trying to rush it.

Besides, he didn't really need to aim that much with the cryo-gun. Thing was pretty fucking forgiving.

There, on the other land bridge. His HUD could pick out Marcy, the robots, and Curie with the medics on the other side. Not in position yet, but close. "Alright everyone, let's go over this one more time," he said. "Straight in, no detours, focus on clearing the nests and whatever's guarding them. We go inside the walls and we do a little pest control until we get either an all-clear from outside or confirmation of a second wave. If it's the former, we can relax. If it's the latter, me and the robots'll take the shoreline while you guys hold the Castle itself. Got it?"

He heard a murmur of assent from the gathered troops, but nothing especially enthusiastic. Ted sighed quietly before clearing his throat and continuing.

"I know this doesn't seem like much," he went on, "and I know it doesn't sound like this matters, but it does. The Castle will give us the ability to communicate with the whole Commonwealth. Every settlement from the Slog on down to Quincy will be safe. Not just from raiders, or mutants, but from the Institute too. No more people getting snatched up, no more being scared that your family or friends have been replaced. People will have somewhere to turn. They'll have somewhere they can feel safe."

"One minute," Harkness mumbled in his ear.

"The Institute is gonna have to face up to the fact that they declared war on the Commonwealth the minute they started hurting its people," Ted continued, "and they're gonna learn the hard way that we're not gonna stand for that shit anymore."

More agreement, some enthusiastic. By then they were paying attention, and all Ted needed to do was light a spark to start a wildfire.

"This isn't about the Castle," he said. "It's about protecting everything we've ever cared about. We aren't gonna let these uppity old-world fucks tear our families apart, are we? Who's with me?"

That got a cheer, a show of hands. Under the helmet, Ted grinned.

"I said, _who's with me?"_

Another cheer, louder. Along with the fogged breath of a dozen people united in a single goal. With the zoom on his helmet, Ted could see Preston in the back of the group well enough to watch how he ducked his head to hide his expression with the brim of his hat. The man was smiling.

Grinning beneath the helmet, Ted shifted enough to glance over to the other land bridge in the distance. Marcy and her squad were in position to head in and clear the ramparts, along with Isabel's robots. Waiting for the signal flare from Ted, because he was the one Harkness had given command to out in the field.

"All clear," Harkness told him over the comm.

Ted brought the flare gun up and pointed it at the sky. "Ready..." Counting it out in his head: three, two, one, _fire_. "Move out!"

With almost perfect synchronicity, the Minutemen stormed the Castle.

\---

The mirelurks had better numbers than they did by far. Especially if one were to count the little ones that came right out of the shells all hungry and pinchy. Of particular note was the one in the kitchens that looked like a lobster and took three people to take down. It eventually died to Marcy's shotgun, but not before it gave five people varying degrees of gashes and acid burns, a spitting and cursing Marcy included. Meanwhile, Ted found that the best way to kill the baby 'lurks was to freeze them, then stomp on them, and had great results doing the same with the nests themselves.

(Very cathartic, considering the time a baby mirelurk had almost eaten his shoe.)

They were thorough in clearing the Castle. Every room was combed through, every egg stomped. Harkness used the comms and the Eyebots to monitor as much space as he could at once, and gave Ted a heads-up whenever he spotted something they'd missed. _West wing. In the corridor near the medical supplies. There's a nest in the showers. Watch your six._ Very much in command of the situation, the polar opposite of an armchair general.

Once everything was clear, they had time for a breather. The robots fanned out around the perimeter and Ted took off his helmet to mop at his brow with a rag. He'd gone through three canisters of fuel for the cryo-gun, with only one left. But with the power armor doing much of the work for him, he wasn't as tired as he would've been. It was just fucking sweaty in there, honestly.

All told, eight people were various levels of "wounded", but not a single one was dead. Marcy'd probably give Jun a hell of a scare when she got home though. She was gonna have some wicked scars.

Picking his helmet back up, Ted unlocked the joints in the power armor's legs and got moving again. He had to start going over clean-up with Preston. This place was a wreck. He'd need more fusion cores to clear out all the debris with his power armor. Maybe the old airport would have some? Jamaica Plain? He could always head downtown...

A red light blinked on in his helmet, and he sighed. Right, right. The power supply wasn't meant to run on its own for long, was it? Straightening up, he brushed his hair aside so it wouldn't get in the way and put it back on his head.

"--something in the water," he heard over the comms, and blinked. "Everyone needs to get inside. Ted, do you hear me?"

"Yeah, I hear you." He frowned, pushing past a woman in a Minuteman hat with a bandaged arm to get to the door that led to the courtyard. "Where is it?"

"Southern shore. It--" Harkness stopped dead. "Holy _shit_."

"Harkness?"

"Get everyone inside," he heard, followed by a loud clatter. Then there was some scrabbling on the other end, like someone was fumbling with a headset.

Instead of stopping to think about it, Ted broke into a run. Out into the courtyard, grabbing people by their collars, their sleeves. "Get inside, now! There's something in the water. No, don't bother with that, just go, _go_ \--"

He got up to the ramparts and was still ushering people inside when he saw it. It was two, maybe three stories tall, huge and armored with too many legs and claws as big as a person and beady little eyes black as black as coal. To call it an oversized crab would be a disservice. It was more like a horseshoe crab on the scale of an old-timey kraken. It hissed as it reared up out of the water, spitting something foul that fizzled when it hit the Castle walls.

And when the robots converged to deal with it, it knocked three of them aside with a single sweep of its claw.

"Christ," he murmured. Then he turned and headed back down the ramparts, making his way to a broken part of the wall. "Hey, control? We've got a big-ass problem over here," he said over the comm.

"Yeah, we can see that," Isabel's voice told him. "Harkness just left. I think he headed for the elevator."

"Great. Awesome." The hell was Harkness thinking? Ted winced as he heard more than saw the impact of another batch of robots being easily dispatched, their distressed beeps filtering in through his helmet's pickup alongside the sounds of their destruction. "Is everyone inside?"

"Yes, I think... Wait, no! There's a woman on the northwest side near the shore helping some guy who hurt his leg."

And that was the direction the fucking thing was moving in. "I'll be right over. Keep the sea monster distracted, alright?"

"Got it!" Moments later, he could hear the robots picking a fight with the thing. Its shriek split the air, and was followed by the deaths of several more robots. He even heard one of the robots explode, but the sea monster was still moving.

Ted popped the spent fuel cell out of the cryo-gun and popped his last one in as he ran. Faster, _faster_. Fucking slow-ass power armor! He'd ditch it if he didn't need it. Down the shore, around the wall. He saw them before he got to them; once he was in range, the eyebot that had been spying on them buzzed past to join the fight. "Lucy! Preston! The fuck are you two doing out here?"

"He's hurt," Lucy explained. Her voice was shrill with fear, but she wasn't leaving her post. "His leg needs a splint."

"I can walk," Preston tried to say. But when he tried to shift his weight, even the barest movement of his injured leg tore a noise out of him that was only slightly muffled by gritted teeth. "I'll be fine," he ground out.

Lucy glared at him. "No you won't, now sit still."

Jesus. "Lucy, get inside," Ted told her. "Now."

"But--"

His patience snapped. "I'm not bringing you back to your old man in a fucking body bag. Go."

She glanced worriedly to Preston, and he nodded his agreement. Biting her lip, she straightened out and made a run for it. The thing was coming closer. Ted could hear it. Feel its weight making the ground shudder even through the shock absorbtion of the power armor's finely tuned frame.

Preston could feel it too. "You too," he said. "Go. I'll be fine."

"Like hell." By then he could see it, around the corner of the wall. Could zoom in on it with his helmet even if the accuracy readout was zero. Were there any robots left to fight it? Or were the remaining robots keeping the people safe? "Sturges would never forgive me if I left you behind."

Preston laughed weakly, his grip tightening on his laser musket's duct-taped stock. Ted let out a steadying breath and turned to face the monster just as it rounded the corner, hissing and snapping its claws. It was injured, but still moving; the robots hadn't even managed to cripple it. Still, like hell he was letting it get Preston. Or Lucy, or anyone. No one had died yet today. No one was going to. Not if he could help it.

He swung the cryo-gun around, bracing it on a chink in the ceramic of his armor, took aim, and--

A sharp, distinct sound cracked across the sky, piercing the air. And one of the thing's beady little eyes fucking _exploded_. It shrieked, rearing back and pawing at its comically tiny face, but not a second later, there was a second _crack_ and its other eye was gone too.

Ted whipped around, startled. Searched frantically for the target. Who the hell was shooting? He didn't see anyone--oh. Oh, _shit_.

On the other side of the water to the north, so far off that even the power armor had trouble zooming in that far, was a tiny blip with an even smaller stick-thing in its hands, perched on the bit of seawall just south of the airport. Harkness couldn't stay out of the fight after all.

Three more shots were fired, but if Ted were to be honest, the thing that had emerged from the water was probably dead after shot number three. Four and five were just Harkness being paranoid as it took its sweet time falling over. The crazy bastard. His hand was hurt. He wasn't supposed to be using his rifle.

Not that Ted was gonna complain.

 


	24. 21: truth and lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took ages because I was busy being distracted with an attempt at NaNoWriMo. I'm... no good at official deadlines. Self-inflicted ones, maybe, but you give me a date and a wordcount and it'll lock me up harder than anything. There was also the fact that I wanted to write a sex scene - it's expected, at the end of a fic this long - and didn't realize that the characters weren't ready at this point in their arc. Which is funny to me, because they've had plenty of time together and they're certainly intimate enough in other ways. But no. The boys wouldn't do it. Ted's not ready and Harkness would rather cuddle. And with clear and informed consent being such a Thing for both of them, it wasn't going to happen without it.
> 
> I'm amazed at how much they've matured, honestly. I hope the lack of sex scene isn't a dealbreaker for anyone though. For those who are curious, Harkness is more demi or grey-ace than what Ted's thinking. He's not sex-repulsed and he's certainly not traumatized, sex is just weird to him. If anyone's got questions, I'll answer 'em! 
> 
> ONWARDS TO THE READING BITS

With about a half hour to spare before the radstorm, Harkness arrived at the Castle to find Ted clearing rubble and mirelurk corpses out of the halls in power armor. This being Ted, it wasn't surprising when he dropped everything he was carrying and stepped out of the power armor to dash forward and tackle Harkness in a fierce hug. And Harkness being Harkness, not only did he catch Ted without so much as a stumble, lifting him up with a firm grip under his arms just to hear him laugh and give him a kiss was no difficult task either.

This belonged to Harkness. This was his human. His responsibility, his charge, his mission.

"That was a hell of a shot, babe," Ted told him, legs wrapping around his waist. Nose-to-nose, as close as could be.

It took a moment for Harkness to realize he was smiling. "Can't really let a giant mirelurk have you for dinner when I'm not done with you yet."

"Then I guess I just have to hope you'll never be done with me, huh?" It was said with a joking tone, but Harkness knew that there was truth in it, knew Ted too well to believe otherwise.

So he said "I won't be," and went in for another kiss, and decided that he didn't have to say how scared he'd been because Ted probably already knew.

When the radstorm finally hit and Harkness was forced to stay inside because of it, it was Ted who called the meeting on cleanup afterward to give everyone else an excuse to stay inside with him. Robots continued moving debris out of the Castle while they found a bunch of folding chairs along with a table that hadn't been ruined, and Harkness sat down at his usual spot at the head of the table while Ted went over hazmat procedures.

Radstorms were a thing they'd predicted pre-war. While they did slowly grow rarer by the year, the fact that they'd stuck around this long told Ted that this wasn't a result of the bombs, but a reactor containment meltdown. He said the lingering rads came from the longer half-lives of the materials involved in a meltdown compared to a detonation, which meant that if they wanted to keep the land viable for crops the next year, they'd have to scrape the top layer of soil and deposit it somewere safe. If it were predicted to hit plants in particular, there were things developed pre-war they could spray the plants down with to give them a thin, waxy protective coating.

"The main downside to this is that you'll have to wash anything you grow before you eat it, but I figure that's not too much of a problem," Ted told them all with a shrug. "We did it pre-war too. It's a good habit to get into."

But why spray the plants down?

"Well, ionizing radiation kills things by destroying the cells on a molecular level, tearing apart DNA and leading to things like cancer from now-mutated cells proceeding to multiply and overrule the genetic code of healthy cells while overpowering the immune system, _or_ just straight-up tissue necrosis, blood poisoning, and eventual death. In plants, they try to shed the affected tissue, which turns red as the plant takes the nutrients away from the area to not waste energy on a piece of itself that's basically dying--"

"Ted," Harkness cut in, "short version."

"Oh. Right, uh. Basically it keeps your crops from rotting away and dying." Much better. Not everyone in the room was quite so used to his technobabble; some of the recruits could barely read. "We also need to think of a place where we can put the topsoil we scrape off. Preferrably not the ocean."

There was a murmur of agreement through the room as everyone decided, in unison, that they didn't want their settlement to be the one chosen.

"It won't be anyone's home, don't worry," Ted assured them. "I'm talking actual toxic waste disposal sites, not somebody's basement. There's a few of them in the Commonwealth that I can think of off the top of my head. Besides, we're gonna have to wait for the snow to melt anyway."

Much of the room's tension dissipated at that, relief clearly visible on most everyone's faces. Some weren't convinced - it was Ted, after all, and he wasn't the best at convincing people sometimes - but Harkness figured that they'd eventually come around. They usually did, once they'd seen Ted's ideas in action and doing tangible good for them. Even if one had to approach those ideas one or two at a time to get people to agree to the benefits of each in turn, they could still get away with it because the Commonwealth didn't have the kind of population density it'd had pre-war, so there weren't as many people to convince.

Pre-war living must've been frustrating with that many stubborn assholes per square mile. "If we fix our crops, we get more food. If we get more food, we can support more people and more trade, and with more people and trade, we can build up more defenses and increase the amount of ground we can cover." Ted explained. "A foothold against the Institute won't be about technology, it'll be about infrastructure. All we have to be able to do is dig in our heels and face them head-on, and we'll pretty much have them beat."

"It's too much of a risk for them to try and take on an entrenched position," Harkness said. "If they're in any way resource-conscious - and judging by their roving bands of recycled Gen 2s that scour the Commonwealth for scrap, they are - then they can't afford to let us be the ones to set the rules of engagement. Over the next few weeks, I want everyone to be ready for increased activity on their part, be it with synths or hired mercs or whatever they can throw at us."

This was met with bristling and a number of angry murmurs and nudges through the gathered Minutemen. No one liked the Institute, and it was a safe bet that even the spies in the room would have to play the part of being dissatisfied with them. Harkness smiled to himself, for once not anxious in the slightest.

"We can win this," he said; he shot a glance at Ted, and his human grinned from ear to ear. Outside, the storm raged on. But Harkness was unafraid. "It won't be easy, but that's never stopped the Minutemen before. Won't stop us now either." The Castle was theirs; it was time to get to work on everything else that hinged on that.

There was a lot to do.

\---

They spent the next three days cleaning up the Castle and making it ready to house enough people to run it. Curie and Lucy tended to those who had been injured in the fight, while Sturges, Jun, and Isabel all helped Ted and a small army of robots with rebuilding. The walls would take more time than anyone had to spare, but wiring up a fusion generator and defending the gaps with turrets was more than enough to compensate for that. After that, most of their time was spent repairing pipes and getting the pumps back in working order.

(Naturally, Ted wanted to turn both the extra water and the ready supply of sea salt into revenue once the supply lines were set up, because he never lacked for ideas. Harkness told him _maybe_.)

Ronnie Shaw showed up around the same time that they were finally finishing up with cleaning out all the rubble. Dressed smartly in clean fatigues and a military cap, her posture straight and her face lined with age, she told Harkness in no uncertain terms that she wasn't impressed.

"Still haven't gotten the armory open yet, I see," she said.

Ted and Harkness shared a look. "What armory?" Ted asked. This was how they were led into the cellars.

It was also how they found out that the Castle had a Sentry bot, albeit a malfunctioning one that Harkness had to distract so that Ted could climb onto it and remove its fusion cores (because just killing it would be a waste of parts, according to Ted). And it was where they found the dead former General, still fully decked out. Harkness didn't think much of it at the time; he was more concerned with the armory, which they did eventually open up, along with another wing of the castle they'd thought of as inaccessible. He even got a gauss rifle out of it.

So it was a little surprising when a couple of days after that, he was handed a cleaned and tailored General's coat, courtesy of Jun's skills and Ted's scheming. From the weight of it, he knew it was lined with ballistic fiber, making it even heavier than the dark blue wool ever would be on its own.

"Go on," Ted told him. "Put it on."

Harkness stood up from his seat at his desk (the General's quarters were fully furnished) and held the coat out at arm's length to examine it. It was his size. Even moreso than his old coat. "How did you get my measurements?"

"Codsworth helped. He was able to estimate how we needed to adjust it to fit based on his sensor data, and Sturges is close enough to your size that we were able to get the pins right." Ted made an attempt at acting casual about it, but he was glancing at Harkness a bit too often to pretend that he wasn't interested in seeing a reaction. "We're still working on the hat. Had to find material for that one, y'know, since it's real leather. You, uh... You like it?"

"It's longer than my old one," Harkness noted. When he swung it around to pull it on, it didn't tug across his shoulders in a way that threatened to tear; always a plus. The sleeves were long enough too, and buttoning it didn't pull it so tight that the buttons threatened to come loose. "And it's a little flashy."

"But it'll work?" Oh. Here Harkness was listing off things that were different and all Ted wanted to know was whether he'd done a good job or not. So Harkness smiled and kissed his human gently on the forehead, and Ted managed to relax.

"It'll work," he said. "Thanks."

"No problem." A few seconds passed wherein Ted fidgeted and Harkness let him; mentioning it made him self-conscious and even less likely to say whatever it was that was on his mind. "Hey, uh," he began, "the water in here is working now, right?"

"Right."

"Okay. Well." Ted took a deep breath and let it all out in a rush. "D'you, uh. You kind of look like you could use a shave again."

He could. But that was already part of their routine. It didn't warrant nervousness. "Where are you going with this?"

"Well, I was just, y'know, thinking that. I dunno. If it went a little further than that?" When Harkness backed off enough to look, Ted was pink all the way up to his ears. "We don't have to! I mean, yes, I'd definitely love to have sex with you, but uh... Jesus I'm bad at this."

Oh. "You could just ask me."

"Hah! No. I mean, yes. I could. But you, uh. I don't want to make you think I wouldn't be okay with it if you told me 'no'. Because I would be. Okay with it, I mean."

"What makes you think I'd say no?"

"I'm not saying you would! I just, I wanna be sure you know you have that option. It's important." Ted wilted under Harkness's gaze, looking even smaller than he already did. "I don't want it to be because you're grateful to me for whatever reason, or because you think you owe me, o-or any of that, so..."

Harkness let his human trail off, mulling it over. He could be insulted, but he knew it wasn't meant as one. He could worry about the implications of Ted's underlying self-deprecation, ask why Ted thought of himself as the kind of person who might take advantage, but he already knew the answer. What Ted was trying to do was give him a way out, because something Harkness had done or said had made Ted think he wouldn't want this.

And in most cases, Harkness didn't. So it wasn't like Ted was totally wrong. Still, though.

"Hey," Harkness said. Ted blinked at him. "I trust you."

There, a tiny smile. "So you keep telling me."

"Well, you haven't let me down yet." That got a chuckle out of the man. "You won't be taking advantage of me. I've done this before. If you do anything I don't like, I'll tell you."

"Yeah, definitely. Tell me and I'll stop." It sounded like a promise. From anyone else, Harkness might have trouble believing them, but coming from Ted, it just reinforced things. There wasn't any doubt that Ted meant it. "I don't ever want you cutting me any slack, got it? Seriously. Don't shrug it off. Just tell me."

There was only one thing left. "You too," Harkness said. "If something's wrong, you let me know. I don't want to hurt you."

"Is that a problem you have?"

"Sometimes." For some reason, he'd always attracted the weird ones that were into that kind of thing. Nevermind that he could break them in half, they could take it, really. (They usually couldn't, even if they said they could.) "I'd rather avoid it if I can."

A slow smirk spread across Ted's face that made Harkness wonder if he'd gotten in over his head. "I think we can manage that."

\---

It did start with a shave, but for once the act was mutual. When his own turn came, Ted chatted away and tried to pretend he wasn't nervous about it as he shifted anxiously on his perch on the sink, but Harkness knew the curves of his face too well to screw it up, even if he was talking the whole time and Harkness was being forced to do just about everything with his left hand. Ted didn't tend to get as scruffy as Harkness, but his jaw was still rough with fuzz to a point that the shave was justified.

"Better?" Ted asked afterward as Harkness ran a thumb over his damp skin. No aftershave smell this time, just soap and shaving cream and a hint of sweat. His breath was hot on Harkness's face, soft rhythmic puffs of humid air that felt quietly intimate.

Harkness had to smile. "Less scratchy," he conceded, "not that it would've stopped me otherwise."

"I'm that charming, huh?"

"Something like that."

There was a pause after that, one that Harkness could only describe as both of them taking each other in. He couldn't say who closed the gap first when they kissed, only that it happened. That they were seperate from each other right up until the moment when they weren't. Then they were peeling off layers, and Harkness wished he had full use of both hands because having just one that was workable meant he had to have Ted's help with that damn jumpsuit, but it was alright because Ted _laughed_ as it happened and Harkness had to chuckle along with him at how ridiculous it was.

And then Harkness was mumbling "arms around my neck" and he got a gasp and another laugh as he lifted Ted up and off the sink's edge, carrying him over to the bed and setting him down only to follow him onto the mattress. It was easy, all of it. Years ago it'd been hard for Harkness to wrap his head around it, but he'd done enough since then that it wasn't nearly as daunting. It helped to think of it as giving something good to someone else, he'd found, and for Ted he'd be willing to give just about anything.

"How d'you wanna do this?" It was cold in the room, and Ted's fingertips weren't much warmer on his skin. Once his shirt was gone, Ted had been quick to start mapping out the lines and contours of his muscles, ghosting careful fingers over scars both old and new. "I mean, I don't have any preference, so..."

Harkness couldn't help another smile. "Liar," he said, and Ted huffed.

"Okay, fine. How about 'I'm up for whatever you wanna do,' is that better?" As much as he accused Harkness of pouting, Ted was definitely better at it.

It was adorable, and Harkness kissed him soundly for it. Then moved on to kiss his cheek, and his jaw, and his neck; Ted's hands stilled at the distraction. "What I want," Harkness began, "is for you to take it easy. I can handle this."

"Can you?" Ted sounded incredulous. "I mean, I get that you've done this before, I just--"

"Ted." Harkness was grinning, unable to stop himself. He could even hear it in his own voice. "It's okay. Don't worry about it so much."

"I always worry."

That much was definitely true. "Let me take care of you for once," Harkness said. "Please."

Letting out a slow, steadying breath, Ted's hands drifted to Harkness's shoulders, resting cool fingers against his skin. Hesitant. Uncertain. Harkness had no idea what was going inside that head, except that it was dark and ran deep. Normally he'd say it didn't matter. Most humans he'd been with would say it didn't. He was sure Ted wouldn't stop him if he persisted. So why did it feel like it mattered this time? Had he read the situation wrong?

"Ted?" Harkness pushed himself up onto his hands, and Ted averted his eyes guiltily.

"What, you're not gonna keep going?" he asked. His lips curved, but the smirk didn't quite reach his eyes. Especially not when he glanced up and tried to meet Harkness's gaze; it was like he was going for a challenging look, but without the confidence to back it up. "C'mon now."

"You don't want this?" The nervousness when asking. Pushing aside the responsibility of it. Ted had never really asked. _I'd love to have sex with you_ , he'd said. Leaving it open for Harkness to assume that the act itself was what was wanted.

The way Ted's face screwed up with something indescribable confirmed it, as he pushed himself up onto one elbow and brought the other hand up to touch Harkness's face. Trying to soothe. "Of course I want you--"

"That's not what I said," Harkness cut in, and Ted flinched. His hand fell away, but Harkness caught it quickly by the wrist, shifting his weight to do so. "Ted. Do you want me to stop?"

No response, just a look in Ted's eyes like a cornered radstag doe. Harkness sighed, and brought Ted's hand up to his lips to kiss it in apology. He'd read the situation wrong, and now Ted was upset. This was on him. Even if he didn't quite know how it'd gotten this far without him noticing, it was still on him.

He eased his grip on Ted's wrist, staring down at his small, pale human. "We don't have to," he said. "It's--" how was he even supposed to put this into words? "--it's not something I need."

The tension in Ted's muscles lessened somewhat. "You didn't tell me that."

"I'd do it for you," Harkness said honestly.

"That doesn't make me feel better, babe." Another lie; Ted was smiling again, relieved. Underneath his words, he was obviously glad to not have to do anything more intimate than what they'd already established as routine. "All this time and I've been making passes at a guy who's ace."

That was a new word. "Ace?"

"Asexual. It's a thing." Ted's smile faltered slightly. "That's all it is though, right? I know you said you've been with people before, but like... The whole relationship thing doesn't bother you, does it?"

Harkness blinked, thrown for a moment by the fact that this was even something Ted felt the need to ask. It really should've been obvious, shouldn't it? But then, he'd misread the situation before, and apparently so had Ted, so maybe asking was the right thing to do at that point. "I--yes. That's all it is."

"Okay. Good." There was that relief again, Ted relaxing back into the sheets. Followed by a shiver as his hands flew up to rub at his arms. "Right. So can we, y'know, get under the covers now or something? I seriously didn't think of this before but _Christ_ does the Castle need more space heaters."

"Guess we'll have to find some," Harkness said, rolling onto his side and wrapping Ted up in his arms. With some maneuvering of legs and feet, they managed to make their way under the frankly excessive amount of blankets and snuggle into one of their usual positions. Sex was fine, but he definitely preferred this. He wasn't going to question Ted's reasons for not wanting anything more, because they were Ted's reasons. Even if there was something darker going on in the human's head, Harkness wasn't going to press the matter. He kind of didn't want to. Was that unhealthy?

After a while, Ted spoke up again. "Hey," he mumbled; his voice was small, quiet. "Love you."

Harkness kissed his hair. "Love you too." At least some things had easy answers.

 


	25. epilogue: reluctant heroes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm bad at endings, so I wrote this instead to show that the journey, whether I decide to continue it or not, WILL continue without the writer's input. If I continue this particular storyline, it'll include MacCready, Hancock, and eventually Nick Valentine and the showdown with Kellogg. Maybe even going to find Virgil and Ted leaving for the Institute. But if I DON'T continue it from here specifically, I still have a sequel in the works that involves the Lone Wanderer and Nick going to hit up Nuka World. The first chapter for THAT is already written.
> 
> Whether or not I continue this, know that the other fic WILL be a thing. Because I am having too dang much fun with it for it to not be a thing. I think you guys will like it; it's got a wildly different tone from this one, but the characters have all the beautiful chemistry of a house on fire, and I think it'll be a blast to read.
> 
> For all the readers who've followed this fic and everyone who's commented and everyone who's left a kudos and just. ALL OF YOU. From the bottom of my heart. Thank you. You're all beautiful and I love every single one of you. This fic has gotten some of the most positive and enthusiastic feedback I've ever gotten, and I treasure all of it. Seriously, thanks. Y'all keep me going.
> 
> Whatever it is y'all celebrate, I hope your holidays treat you well.

MacCready wouldn't have even been aware that it was New Year's Eve if it weren't for everyone else talking about it. Magnolia was going to sing a special set, Whitechapel Charlie was offering a "discount" even if he skirted around having to actually give people more booze by pouring less of it, and he'd heard Daisy talking about resolutions with one of the ghoul guards. 2287 was on its way out, and 2288 was just around the corner.

According to folks around town, it was an occasion that wasn't meant to be spent alone. And technically speaking, he wasn't. Winlock and Barnes were in his room making sure of that.

"Tell you what, asshole," Winlock was saying, "I'll make you a deal. You cough up a few caps, and we forget this ever happened. Whaddya say?"

"I'd say you're the one who should be paying _me._ Y'know, for damages from having to look at your face for this long." MacCready smirked. His gun was within reach, but he was pretty sure they wouldn't touch him in Goodneighbor. Pretty sure. Mostly. Kinda. Alright so maybe he was banking on Charlie getting annoyed if he were to die before he paid his tab, and every goon in the place being willing to stand up for their favorite bartender. "I'm gonna have nightmares for weeks."

Winlock snarled. "You're treading on thin ice, you little prick."

"I'm pretty sure that out of anyone in this room, I'm the one who's least likely to be lacking in that area." He leaned back against the dilapidated couch and tucked his arms behind his head, watching the pair of them sputter and fume. "But by all means, go right ahead and shoot. I'm sure Hancock will be all for the unsanctioned murder going down in his bar. He'll definitely let you back into Goodneighbor to do business after that."

Barnes spoke up next. "I say we shoot 'im."

" _No_ , you idiot," Winlock spat. "He's right. We can't do it in town."

"He's gotta leave town sometime--"

As the two bickered, MacCready's eyes were drawn to movement behind them. A towering figure came into the doorway, blocking the light from the bar. Broad and tall with angular features, bronze hair, grey-blue eyes, and a thick, fancy blue overcoat, the newcomer had two long scars that cut through his right eyebrow and over his cheekbone like something had tried to claw off his face.

The stranger was impassive, cold, and _silent_ as he entered the room, not making a sound as he surveyed the room like a robot doing a scan. Neither of the Gunners noticed him at all.

Until he spoke, his commanding tone making them both freeze in place. "Is there a problem, gentlemen?"

The Gunners slowly turned to blink at him. Winlock swallowed hard and narrowed his eyes, attempting to force some semblance of composure. "Ain't none of your business, asshole. Fuck off."

As Winlock spoke, MacCready could see Barnes reaching for a pistol out of the corner of his eye. For a second, the stranger looked at him, and there was the slightest headtilt. Then a downward flick of the man's eyes as he followed MacCready's gaze, and finally the tiniest hint of a smile.

What happened next was almost too fast to see. MacCready had never seen anyone move like that. The only sure thing was that in under a second, there was a sickening _crack_ and Barnes was howling, his gun clattering to the floor as his hand was wrenched behind his back. His wrist was bent at an angle it definitely shouldn't be bent in; the stranger had snapped it like a twig. Not a moment later, Barnes was pinned to a wall.

"Don't," the man said simply as Winlock drew his own weapon; the gun was lowered with shaky hands.

Who the hell was this guy?

"I'm going to let your friend here go," the stranger continued, "and you're both going to leave this establishment. Is that clear?"

Winlock nodded quickly. "Yessir."

"And if I hear about this man being harassed by you people again, I'm going to take his complaints to your organization personally. Understood?"

"Yessir, of course sir."

"Good." With that, he let go of Barnes, who choked out a blubbery sob and clutched his ruined wrist to his chest. "Now get out."

The two goons practically tripped over each other in their haste to leave the room, shoving and grabbing and cursing as they went. MacCready had to stifle a laugh that threatened to bubble up out of him at the spectacle of it all, though he couldn't quite stop himself from grinning. Bastards deserved it. Oh, sure, he'd probably be seeing more of the Gunners once they got back to their bosses to gripe about it. But for now, the schaudenfreude felt pretty good.

Of course, that still left the stranger. Who was looking at MacCready with that same cool, unfazed look. Now that the two goons were out of the way, he could see that the guy was pretty well armed; there was a silenced ten mil strapped to his leg under the coat, and freaking gauss rifle strapped to his back. With him packing that kinda heat, Winlock and Barnes were lucky he _hadn't_ drawn a weapon on them. The gauss rifle at that range would've taken a limb with it even if he had piss-poor aim.

"I had it handled," MacCready said. "Really. They weren't gonna shoot."

"Right." Was this guy taking him at face-value, or was that sarcasm? MacCready couldn't tell. "The Handy behind the bar said that if I was looking for a merc, I'd come to the right place."

"Hah!" This guy needed a hired gun? Uh-huh, sure. "Well, it'll cost you. My services don't come cheap, y'know."

The stranger didn't even flinch. "Four hundred caps."

Okay, that was a lot. And if that was his initial offer, then he was willing to negotiate. "Five hundred," MacCready countered. His mouth had gone dry. Twice his usual asking price. Could he risk it?

"Four-fifty." Apparently he could. Somehow this guy didn't even seem to think that there was anything wrong with it. Like he was used to throwing around caps like water, or like whatever he wanted MacCready to do was that important.

Then another figure appeared in the doorway, leaning against it casually. "Jesus, babe," the newcomer said, "this guy's not even asking a living wage and you're tryin'a negotiate a lower salary?"

Wilting, the taller man shot what could only be described as a pout back towards the doorway. "You always negotiate when it comes to money."

"Economics, Harkness. Being a merc isn't exactly a nine-to-five where you can leave your job behind at the office. He knows better than you do what it costs." Shorter than MacCready, lean, and wrapped in a patchy, oversized coat over a loose jumpsuit, this guy wasn't much to look at. His hair was stark white, and his skin would be almost as pale if it weren't for the slightly blotchy complexion. Even when not compared to the other guy, he was possibly the least intimidating presumably-an-adult person MacCready had ever met. But looking from one to the other, the differences were painfully obvious.

Yet the big guy - Harkness, apparently - obviously deferred to the shrimp. He sighed, relaxing from his bristly, annoyed stance (not far from a neutral stance, but MacCready was getting better at reading him) and frowning like a scolded puppy. "Then what would you suggest?"

"Seven-fifty. Up front. Plus whatever he can carry to sell. We handle room and board for the time he's with us, along with food. Once he's gone, that gives him about a week's worth of comfortable buffer between jobs where he can find things to eat, have a warm place to sleep, or whatever." The shrimp glanced over at MacCready and smirked. "How's that sound? Is that okay?"

Holy-- just what the hell was this guy thinking? That was _three times_ MacCready's usual asking price! He'd asked for five hundred as a joke! "I, uh... Not that I have any complaints, but what exactly are you people expecting me to do?"

"Harkness is gonna go visit some friends. While he does that, I'm gonna be hitting up the old public library. Amongst other things. For the record, you'd be with me." The mad bastard was grinning. "If this little partnership goes on longer than a week, then we can negotiate some actual wages with like, deductions for expenses and all that good shit."

"And just how the heck are you two able to afford this?"

The pair shared a look, and the shrimp jabbed a thumb in Harkness's direction. "Well, he's the General of the Minutemen for one thing."

Oh. "The guy from the paper," MacCready said, dubious.

"Yeah, exactly!"

"The one who shot a mirelurk queen in the eye from two miles away with an unmodded, unscoped hunting rifle."

"I know, right?"

There was a pause as MacCready peered at Harkness, trying to figure out if it was the paper that had been lying or just these two rich idiots. To be fair, Harkness was terrifying. "If I find out I'm being screwed over, I'm not gonna let you get away with it. Either of you."

"That's fair," Harkness said. He didn't seem intimidated. MacCready wondered if anything could intimidate him.

MacCready also had to wonder just what it is he was getting himself into. "Okay," he said. "Then it sounds like you two have just earned yourselves a new business partner."

 


End file.
